Now, Master Warlock, It Begins!
by Clewlessfanfiction
Summary: He lived in peaceful silence for a few decades and then the dreams came. Fix-it fic, set after the Series Finale! (Because we all need it.) Merlin/Arthur eventually. Angsting and clichés must be anticipated.
1. Old Age and Memories

**Author's Note: **Wow! Finally I found the guts to upload this story! It was originally meant to be a chapter fic, but halfway through the "first" chapter, I realised the only reason I wrote it was to find a way to deal with the ending of "Merlin". So, this is what came out. Hope you'll like it.

* * *

He was and old man now, both in appearance and mind. Well, his joints did not ache, nor did his teeth fall out, but his hair was white as snow and his skin wrinkled and bleak. There were nearly no traces of the boy he used to be. Only his eyes were the same- shockingly blue- all too bright for a man his age. He wasn't sure if he had changed or not, even though he was fairly certain he must have gained quite a lot of wisdom over the years. He was scarcely taken aback by anything and the world was a familiar place by now. He had been everywhere he'd been able to set his foot (and some places no feet were needed), he had traveled across the earth hundreds of times and seen it develop and change, while he himself stood still.

He had met Galileo, drunk sweet autumn wine with Da Vinci, seen Shakespeare's plays when they were shown for the first time (and cried mercilessly when Horatio spoke his last line in Hamlet, even though the acting was nothing short of terrible), he had watched as King Olav The Holy was betrayed and stabbed on a battlefield in the cold north and witnessed these great men become legends like himself. He had stood idly on the sideline during the Norman conquest of England, followed myriads of crusades and watched the human race nearly destroy itself during the First and Second World War. Yet, despite all the bloodshed and hatred, the world grew. Its people grew, and their ideals, their habits, their faiths, it all grew – went on, even though he never aged a day.

"_I have lived over a thousand years and watched civilizations rise and fall."_

Therefore, he felt like a child in comparison. A young man with his head stuck in one place, deranged by his own narrow perspective. He had lived through millennia, but he still felt an awful lot like he had done the first time he'd left home, eager and restless, setting off to fulfill his dreams. He knew a lot of things, but was secretly suspecting himself for not having changed at all; for he was stuck and couldn't move on. Stuck in his own idealism, in his faith, desperately clinging to his hope; that one day his destiny would be fulfilled.

_"No man, no matter how great, can know his destiny."_

Time had ceased to speed now. For years, he lived happily convinced that over time, seconds, minutes and hours would no longer be of his concern. He'd believed that at some point, he would not be able to tell the years, decades, or even centuries from one another. That'd he'd one day wake up and find that another thousand years had passed without him noticing, seeing as "time flies when you get older". However, that hadn't been the case. In fact it was the other way around. After several lifetimes, time had begun to slow down again and he now felt to his core how the minutes ticked by. He was aware of the presence of time itself and every second seemed like an eternity. His magic had seeped into the surroundings of the lake. Into the tall grass, the moss covered stones and the pebbles by the shore. The trees closest to the waterline never dropped their leaves, not even midwinter, and on late nights the wind would rustle them in a way that made them whisper his name. Sometimes it sounded almost like a mother's soft cooing, while other times it reminded him of a lone wolf's cry.

"_Emrys."_

The water would join in, lapping at the banks, splashing gently against wet stone and roots, and even the fog above it, soundless as it was, would twist and coil, group and scatter, gracefully spelling his name in the air.

_"Emrys."_

It wasn't the name he so longed to hear, the name he couldn't even remember how to utter properly. It was a long time since he had used his voice at all, and even longer since he had tried speaking his other name. In the early years after the fall of Camelot, he had often repeated it to himself, trying his best to put the pressure right- but he had always failed. No matter how he said it, there was something missing and the word lost its meaning and became hollow. So he stopped trying and as the decades passed by, it was covered in dust and blissful oblivion. The man he's used to be, he was no more, and the man he had become, he wasn't sure he knew.

_"Emrys."_

Many strangers had come up to him over the years, held his hands and thanked him for what he had achieved. For bringing magic back to Camelot and creating a safer world for those who wielded it. They would also call him by this foreign name, touch his face and smile at him as if he was some long lost cousin. These were people with magic, some quite extraordinary, but all of them mortal, destined to leave earth at a certain time. Unlike him, whose destiny was to live forever, just to wait for the return of the Once and Future King. Kilgarrah was long gone and the echoes of his farewell had long since died. Yet, the warlock remembered his words clearly, as if they'd been spoken only a day before and they haunted him day and night.

_"He is the Once and Future King."_

This was why he was sitting by the lake of Avalon every single day, still waiting, still hoping for something, anything to happen. But the lake was ever calm, except for the soft moaning of the wind.

"_Emrys."_

He hadn't had a visitor in years now, magical people becoming fewer and fewer. The past hundred years or so, he had only encountered a handful and it made him wonder if one day he would wake up and be the only one left. Somehow the thought didn't really sadden him, it only added to the emptiness he already felt. He rarely made friends with them, but politely listened to their speeches and declined with a sad smile when they asked him to tell them about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Not because he wanted to be cross, but because he didn't want these people to think that they knew them, just because they'd heard stories about them.

"_The story we have been a part of will live long in the minds of men."_

They all told him the same thing; that they understood, while in reality, none of them did. Even if they knew him by name and deeds, none of them knew his real self. The self he had buried that fateful day when his life had been deprived of meaning. Only the fire seemed to remember him. Sometimes, when he out of habit, lit a one by the lake, it would crackle and snap and –quite on its own – summon little golden dragons, floating in the air for a few seconds before vanishing. Whenever that happened, he had to look away, the familiar pressure in his chest threatening to choke him.

_"What will I do without you?"_

Some places, the ground was covered with tiny pale-blue flowers, forget-me-nots, he had often mused with a bittersweet irony.

_"You will remember me."_

He wouldn't allow himself to reflect upon what they symbolized. The pain those memories withheld was too great, even after all this time. He had almost come to despise them, and still, those were the only real memories he had, the only ones that mattered.

"_A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole."_

The first ten years that had passed since _that day _where now nothing but a mass of events, all mashed up like a bowl of porridge without as much as single raisin to compete with the dull colorlessness of it all. It had taken him a long time to appreciate living again even though he was still a young man when it happened. Now, fifteen hundred years later, he still hadn't recovered completely, although the intense grief he'd felt when it happened had subsided. He wasn't broken anymore; his body had somehow mended its wounds with the passing of time, but a part of him was still missing, a part he couldn't regain until the dragons prophecies came true.

"_Cheer up, will you?" _

It wasn't that he was unhappy or depressed to the bone, he was simply indifferent. Not to everything of course. He still had moments of both joy and sadness, but his heart was scarred in so many ways and he'd traveled in the deepest valleys of sorrow before. It took a lot to move him now, but on a few occasions he'd enjoy life and almost forget completely for a few wonderful moments.

"_That's better."_

One of the memories that stood out from his new life was one where he'd helped a family of four in the 15th century. The mother, Joanne Creevey, had died in childbirth and her newborn child was close to death when the eldest son in the household came to him asking for help. He'd gone under the name Franklin Custard back then, a wealthy, middle aged physician living in a great mansion close to the lake. He'd supposedly inherited the estate from an uncle without other heirs, while in reality the mansion was a gift from an old sorcerer who used to live there. The sorcerer's name was Thomas Dayne and he'd reminded the warlock of Gaius a bit, always treating him as a son or nephew, even though he was in fact nearly thousand years younger than him. Dayne never worshipped him like others with magic did and more often than not he would ask favors of him and expect him to run his errands, simply because he was –as stated by Dayne himself- a lot lighter footed than him, and untroubled by the turnings of time. He was the only one who'd never ask him about Camelot, somehow sensing the other man's discomfort whenever the topic came up.

When the Creevey family asked Custard for help back then he had in secret performed one of his greatest deeds throughout the ages, saving the newborn baby from death, despite the fact that healing had never been his strong point. He sat with the little bundle day and night, trying to let his magic flow freely, hoping somehow that it would know what to do even if he, himself did not. By some miracle it worked and the infant boy grew up to be a smiling, chubby toddler and later a curious young man. His given name had been John, after his dead mother, but everyone called him Wart because he used to cling to everyone's feet as a baby. Custard had taken him as his apprentice and taught him how to save lives, something which seemed to come naturally to the boy. He was an eager student and his devotion to the art of healing was touching. The wizard suspected it had something to do with the fact that he had been exposed to healing magic during his first weeks on the earth. He was bright as well, and full of idealism and courage. He would often bicker with his teacher and always demanded thorough explanations. Sometimes, when while engaged in heated arguments about this or that, the wizard would almost smirk at the resemblance to… well, almost smirk anyway, and he decided early on that Wart was meant for greatness.

_"Some men are born to plough fields, some live to be great physicians, others to be great kings."_

He had been right, for the boy soon gained an important position at the Royal Court of England, serving as a physician under Queen Elizabeth herself and married a wealthy girl with copper locks and mesmerizing green eyes. Her name had been Guinevere and she was named after the then mythical Queen of Camelot. When the wizard saw her name on the wedding invitation his heart had stopped for a moment, old memories resurfacing with a pang. Memories of a graying lady on her deathbed, her hand outstretched towards him asking him to take care of her kingdom.

"_For the kingdom you helped me build."_

He hadn't been able to do that of course, for it was out of his hands and Camelot's destiny had already been written down in the book of fate. Yet, he had taken care of her business after she'd passed, only to see her throne slip to someone who did not manage to hold it. Eventually the kingdom fell and the castle was destroyed by Mark of Cornwell, a man who would later become legendary for this very action. Gwen died happily, not knowing what was to come and he could still remember the last word she had uttered.

Somehow it didn't bother him that it was _Lancelot_.

Wart, of course did not know this, so when he introduced his wife to Custard, the old man had to blink back a few tears much to the young woman's surprise. She had been kind to him and offered him a seat, thinking he was tired, but he had smiled and asked her for a dance instead. Wart had been delighted, although a little puzzled, for he had never seen an old man quite so fit before. The celebrations had ended with beautiful fireworks and when he bid the newlyweds goodbye they had been locked in a tight embrace underneath the flaming sky. That was the last time he ever saw them. The warlock often thought of Wart and whenever he did, his mood would brighten and his chest would feel a little less heavy. One day, he thought, maybe he'd be capable of thinking about others in that way as well.

The years had passed since the Creevey family, but they weren't the only ones with whom he'd spent a lifetime. In the early 1700's a sheep-herder named Gale came to the lake and with him over a hundred sheep. He had names for all 107, and he loved to play the flute by the fire at night. The warlock, then named Michael Flemming, (supposed grandson of Michael Custard, the great grandson of Franklin Custard) would often sit with him by the lakeshore, listening to the boy's various stories, all of them including sheep. Gale was a simple soul, but his heart was pure and his spirit made up for what his mind lacked. Besides, he made wonderful stew and always shared the little he had. He would return to the lake every summer for thirty-seven years, until one year he did not come. The wizard figured he had died, seeing as he'd rounded fifty, which was an old age for a sheep-herder back then.

Apart from Wart and Gale there had been a woman named Jenny- and it was of her the wizard thought the most. He'd met her one February afternoon, in 1893, when she was no more than a girl of eight. She had been homeless and wandering around in the little village nearby the lake looking for someplace to sleep and had eventually ended up at his doorstep. At first, he hadn't known what to do with her, but after contacting the local police-station and finding neither her parents nor her real hometown, he took her in and gave her a spare-room in the now restored mansion left to him by Dayne.

He was then called Colin and posed as a young man of twenty-two living in the household of his ancestors. Even though he had no clue of how to raise a child, he did and she lived with him for seven years. She was a precious little thing with a brilliant mind and a fierce temper. Her eyes always seemed to be searching for something and her voice rang like little bells whenever she talked. He taught her how to read, how to calculate and draw. He bought a piano for her and together they explored the mystical universe of music. She would play for him in the dim evening light and he would sit there and listen, thinking that her music was magic far beyond his own. He'd even take her to the lake sometimes, and together they would sit and watch the sunset, her often dozing off on his shoulder so that he had to carry her home when the night drew its blanket around them. Those years were the happiest he'd had since the death of his King.

When she turned the proper age, he sent her to an all-girls boarding school in London, where she spent six years studying before returning to him. Jenny, whom had by then turned twenty-one, proved to be a great housekeeper and an amazing cook, so he let her stay another year. During that year, something strange happened; something he had not at all expected or foreseen.

One night, while he was sitting in his study, she entered with a candle in her hand asking him to kiss her. He did, because he didn't know how else to respond and because he wanted to, for she was as beautiful as she was bright, her hair the color of white gold and her eyes resembling one of those great glaciers in northern Europe, glimmering with blue and silver.  
It didn't frighten him or appall him in any way, so he took her to bed that night and for the first time he experienced what it was like to make love to another human being. She had fallen asleep in his arms and while he listened to her soft breathing his thoughts traveled to the other times he'd held someone like that. This time it was different, because Jenny wasn't crying or scared, nor was she dying. She was happy, content and warm.

_"Just hold me. Please."_

While she was sleeping soundly, he got up and carefully made his way across the room to the open window. Outside it was snowing and the moon was hidden behind a soft veil of clouds. He stood there for hours, just watching the snow tumble down against the windowsill, thoughts traveling to another snowy day long ago, a day where his worst fears had come true.

_"Hello Arthur."_

One memory followed after another and when he climbed back to bed, he was chilled to the bone. Jenny slept on, seemingly unbothered by the shivering body next to her, but when the first rays of sunshine crept through the curtains, he woke up alone. He never saw her again and on the pillow next to him there was a lock of her hair tied up with a small black ribbon. He kept it in chest-pocket where it was wrapped around a round medallion that once belonged to another woman with the same blonde curls.

The years came and went, and the wind still called out his name in the night.

_"Emrys._"

He let his body grow old and his beard white. He moved out from the mansion and found himself a hut even closer to the lake- a crooked, windswept building that had seen better days. Some nights he would lie awake and listen to the way the walls creaked and moaned, they also familiar with his identity.

_"Emrys._"

He got a sheep and named it Gale, but within the first month of his staying, Gale became Gail, because he –or rather she – gave birth to a little woolen thing later referred to as Wart II. Both Wart II and Gail were good listeners and the warlock, who'd discovered how to turn himself into an animal by then, would sometimes do so, just to be able to have a decent conversation once in a while. Some days, when the weather allowed it, they would all trot down to the lake and together they'd watch the sunset and even with his sheep-ears he would hear the water licking at the shore.

_"Emrys."_

Eventually they too passed away, Gail due to age and Wart II because of a reckless truck driver. He buried them both in the backyard and lit a fire in their honor. After that he didn't speak much and decided that he was done with both sheep and human alike. He lived in peaceful silence for a few decades, not even talking to himself. And then the dreams came.

One morning in January, 2013, he woke up screaming, his magic exploding around him, knocking out all the electricity in the cottage and turning the bedroom upside down. He couldn't remember the dream at all, except for a faint sound of drums in the distance and the image of a setting sun.

"_For brother will slaughter brother, for friend will murder friend as the great horn sounds a cold dawn at Camlann."_

It was the first of many dreams to come.

Some nights he would dream about Kilgarrah, only it wasn't the dragon heard when the beast opened its mouth, but his father. Balinor's steady voice telling him that everything was going to be fine, for it was his destiny to save and protect The Once and Future King. That he should not weep for the fallen and that time would someday stop taunting him.

_"No man is worth your tears."_

Other nights he dreamt of Camelot, of the castle itself and the forest surrounding it, the flags and the spears, the town and the surrounding villages. He'd see the faces of old friends; Gwen laughing with Elyan, Lancelot looking back at him while stepping through the veil, Gwaine flicking his hair out of his eyes, Percival handing him a blood-red cape, and Gaius raising his brow in amusement … he'd even see Morgana.

Sometimes, he'd find himself in the woods, surrounded by darkness and she'd be there, among the trees, face hidden by the shade of her hood. She'd walk up to him, touch his face and whisper apologies in his ear, claim that she was sorry for everything. Every time he'd kill her. And when he pulled Excalibur from her flesh, it would crumble to dust and scatter on the forest floor, vanishing alongside the light in her eyes.

"_Goodbye, Morgana."_

He'd dream of Freya dying in his arms, of Uther, stonefaced and regal on his throne. Of Nimueh and Morgause, and of the wretched day a druid boy in a dark green cloak came running through the main gates of Camelot. He'd see his mother standing outside her little cottage in Ealdor, tending the flowers with careful hands and Will, grimy and worn after a hard day's work. He'd see images of a young prince with sky-blue eyes, a little too long hair and a smug smirk, a boy whom he barely remembered ever existing. A boy untainted by war, trouble and heartache, with no sorrow in his eyes, no impossible burdens on his shoulders, or a crushing destiny.

"_Do I know you?"_

He'd dream of flying daggers, a poisoned chalice, malicious spirits in the night and that boy kneeling in a room painted golden and red, his expression solemn and bare, a heavy crown looming above his head.

_"Long live the King!"_

He'd see a round table in a moonlit cave, a yellow flower clinging to a stone wall, an enchanted sword being pulled from a rock and a golden dragon floating in the air above the fire.

"_I'm a sorcerer. I have magic."_

He'd see that golden boy, now a man, look up at him with round and frightened eyes and feel his soul unravel at the sight. And he'd know with every fiber of his being, that he loved this man despite of all his flaws and mistakes. He would gladly have given his life to him.

"_Why did you never tell me?"_

He'd see those eyes close for the last time and hear the echoes of his own grief ringing in the night and he would weep soundlessly into his covers. He'd feel his world caving in and his heart ripped from his chest, only to watch it glide away from him in a wooden boat fading slowly into the fog.

"_I will protect you, or die at your side."_

He tried everything to get rid of those dreams, even darker magic, but no matter what he did sleep would not take pity on him. Every night he'd relive his nightmares and every morning, he'd wake in the harsh light of day, shuddering and torn, defeated by the ghosts of his past. Until, one night, something peculiar happened.

The dream wasn't, unlike the other dreams, a collage of situations, faces or landscape, nor was it covered in that almost invisible veil that exposed the dream for what it truly was. It started with the low, yet disturbing calling of a war horn and then a hill materialized beneath him. He found himself standing in tall orange grass, dressed the way he was dressed when he was still the King's manservant and above him, purple clouds were rolling, crushing together like before a storm. The land before him was scorched and lifeless; nothing but vibrant red sand and that strange orange grass from horizon to horizon. He stood there for a few seconds before something in the atmosphere changed, and then he saw it. Far, far ahead, a lone figure was walking towards him, his silhouette stark against the flaming backdrop. Minutes, hours, days would tick by and he stood stand completely still, legs glued to the earth, as the man before him came inevitably closer. His heart hammered wildly in his chest, for he knew that man; he knew that walk! When he reached the slope of the hill he stretched his arms out, but when he got almost close enough to touch, the scene dissolved and he was laying in his bed.

Only, he wasn't alone.

There, sleeping soundly on the pillow next to him was King Arthur. The King looked exactly like he remembered him; golden hair painted almost white by the moonlight, fair skin, square jaw and sculpted lips, slightly parted in his sleep. The warlock just lay there, watching him, drinking in the sight of his long lost friend, longing to reach out and touch him. He looked peaceful, childlike even, ethereal in the pale blue glow of the moon.

Suddenly his eyes shot open and they were staring at each other in the gloom. For what seemed like an eternity they just lay there, gazes locked in what was more intimate than any embrace, while the world around them narrowed down to a single bed in a moonlit room. And then, slowly, the air tightened around them and their eyes grew wide at the same time. He felt it then, how his stomach dropped, how his muscles turned soft and how a pool of fire nestled deep in his belly. And he found himself falling. Falling, falling, falling- until nothing but those clear blue orbs and the soul hidden within them kept him tied to the earth.

That morning, when he woke up, change was in the air.

The day was just like any other day by the lake. It was raining and the downpour had been going on for weeks, leaving the landscape sunken and gray. The air was loaded, like before a thunderstorm and the birds were louder than usual. There had been no signs, no forewarning of any kind, and yet, when he made his way to the local grocery store something caused him to stop dead in his tracks, suddenly filled with a strange kind of anticipation. The birds, the trees, the wind, even the fog above the water seemed to halt with him and for a few moments the entire universe held its breath. He closed his eyes and lowered his head and in a sudden moment of clarity he knew.

It was time.

The moments that passed after that he would never again recall and how he made it to the shore would forever be a mystery, but when he was standing there, breath short and ragged from the run, a powerful gust of wind took hold of his beard and the grass fell flat on each side of him. The sky above him changed color and over the howling of the wind, he heard a voice he hadn't heard in lifetimes.

_"Now, Master Warlock, it begins!"_

A roaring laughter filled the air and the sky split open. Lightning struck the ground only feet away from him and suddenly, he felt his body change, his back smarted and the air was knocked out of him. When he peered down at his hands, whey no longer bore the marks of time, his chin felt smooth and his clothing no longer sagged around his shoulders.

His legs moved on their own accord and when he was in waist-deep, the water started glowing a vibrant green. At first, he only saw his own reflection, but then, as he was watching, it blurred and underneath the surface a land emerged. A green and mysterious land with deep forests and playful rivers, where fairies were dancing in the treetops and little blue flowers were scattered in the grass covering steep, shadowy hills. Where strange birds nestled in every willow and mermaids played near shores of pure white sand.

Avalon.

For the first time in over a thousand years, a joyful smile settled on his face and magic streamed through his veins from hidden chambers in his heart. He felt his eyes flash golden and the laughter stopped, only to be replaced by an ancient, foreign song that rose from within the dark forests beneath him. The music filled his ears, his body, his soul and before he knew it, tears were streaming down his face. Something moved in the water and just as the sun broke through the heavy clouds and bathed the lake in a glimmering sheen, he heard it. The name he'd longed to hear for so long, spoken by the man that was not only his destiny, but his entire world.  
_  
_"Merlin!"

It wasn't what he'd expected. He actually sounded a little pissed.  
Typical Arthur.

"_Thank you."_


	2. An Unexpected turn of Events

"_Merlin!"_

No sound ever heard by any human being could have been more welcomed. Nothing he had ever felt could compare to this; never had anything, great or small, made him feel this ecstatic.

The wizard- _Merlin_ was his name- wrapped his arms around himself. His chest was threatening to burst and a steady flow of tears were running down his face. His were eyes locked on the enchanted forest in the depts.

The beauty of it was overwhelming. The trees were large and wiry, branches reaching out in every direction and some of them bore leaves in shades of green the wizard could swear he had never seen before. This wonderful, mythical place called out to him and he could feel how his magic was responding.

Unbothered by the slight chill of the water, he stood his ground, grinning like an idiot, unable to control a single muscle in his face. And the truth was he didn't care to either. Not now, not after all this time. Only one thing mattered at this moment; one thing lit up the sky like a beacon, filling his heart, his body, his entire being.

Arthur.

Finally, Arthur had returned, and somewhere down there, he was waiting.

The sun was bathing him in its golden sheen and behind his reflection in the water Avalon still glimmering in the deep. It was time, it had to be. More tears pooled in his eyes. Oh, how he had waited for this moment. He would finally get to look into those bright, blue eyes again- and they would look happy, not dying, not angry, not sad.

At least he hoped they'd look happy. Judging by the tone of his voice just now he wasn't exactly thrilled about the situation.

His smile grew wider. It didn't matter. Nothing did, except for the fact that Arthur was coming back to him. He'd have him any way he came; even if it meant he'd have to dodge a few flying items.

A sudden fit of giggles came over him. Now that there were no ceramic or iron pots, the King would have to find other stuff to hurl at him. He wondered briefly, to his own immense amusement, if Arthur would take a liking to remotes. He seemed to remember it was a pretty common thing for teenage girls to throw around, at least if one were to trust television and movies.

He looked on as the land came inevitably closer, his insides swollen with glee and anticipation. How he longed to find out.

… but abruptly the magical song that filled the air died.

He frowned.

_What?_

The lake was still glittering, but for some unknown reason, he felt fear rising in his chest. Squinting down he saw the lights in the treetops flicker for a moment, and at once the forest beneath him went pitch black.

Avalon disappeared.

_No!_

Panicking, he searched the now murky water.

_Where is it?_

His heart hammered frantically.

_It was just there, I saw it. And I heard _him!

Filling his lungs with air he plunged into the lake, head first, but when he opened his eyes all he saw was greying sand and seaweed. The mythical land that had been there only moments before was nowhere to be seen.

_No, no, no, this can't be happening!_

He had half a mind to turn himself into a fish, but before he was able to do it, a movement in the water caught his eye. Something, or rather someone, was swimming towards him.

He stilled, heart leaping to his throat. Then, as the figure came closer, it sank again, for he realized it had to be a woman, judging by her size. She appeared to be wrapped in a cloak of some kind, the heavy material dragging her down, restraining her movements. For a moment, he was paralyzed, unsure of what to do and defeated by his own disappointment, but then he saw a familiar mop of bright blonde hair. A shocked gasp escaped him and water filled his mouth.

In a few quick strokes he was with her, grabbing her by the waist. The moment he got a hold of her, she fell limp against him and little bubbles of air escaped between her lips. Using all the strength left in him, he kicked off from the bottom and swam towards the surface, clutching her desperately to his chest.

When he, moments later reached the shore, he practically dragged her out of the lake and tossed her onto the grass, water drops cascading around her like diamonds. He knelt beside her and as she spluttered and coughed, he reached down to move her hair out of her face, in order make sure he hadn't been imagining things.

_I must have made a mistake._

He had to force himself to look, equally afraid of what would happen if it wasn't _her_ and what would happen if it was.

_It can't be._

His fingers trembled as they touched her skin.

_How can such a thing be possible?_

Carefully as a lover, he brushed his fingers against her unkempt curls and cladding his heart in iron he moved the frizzy curtain from her features, exposing her face.

The sight of her made his head spin. _Oh God._ The woman, _she_, took a large gulp of air before looking up at him, eyes round and disorientated. When settling upon his features, they grew larger and after a deafening silence she let out a small, surprised screech.

"Colin!"

Seconds ticked by as they were staring at each other, both breathless and confused, but when the sound of a car in the distance broke the silence they both jumped and suddenly she was in his arms.

She was all sloshy and covered in mud, drained from the top of her head to the tip of her feet and her long white curls clinging to her garments, but the familiar, yet nearly forgotten scent of her filled his nostrils and the feeling of her body against him made his heart clench and swell at the same time. A disbelieving sob escaped him and he tightened his grip on her, as if to make sure she was really there. After all, his imagination had played tricks on him before and his mind could be a cruel thing.

After a few blissful seconds, she untangled herself from his grasp and looked up at him, eyes beaming with joy. Reluctantly, he let go of her and as he was looking down at her precious face it became clear. It _was_ her.

"Oh God, Jenny," his voice sounded foreign to his ears and he realized in that moment that he hadn't spoken for weeks, not even to himself, "it really is you! You're here!"

"Yes," she reached up and touched his hair, eyes sparkling with affection, "it's really me."

He let himself melt into her touch. After all these years of preservation, after denying himself human contact for so long it felt like an oasis in the desert. And this was Jenny! A girl he had known since she was a child and simultaneously a woman he had loved and made love to, a woman whom he had thought about nearly every day for the past hundred years. The words tumbled from his lips.

"Jenny, oh, Jenny, how can you be here? How is it possible? And so young!"

He was rambling, but he couldn't help it.

She hushed him and placed a finger on his lips. "I'll explain everything later, but you need to come with me now."

He furrowed his brows. "Come with you?"

It all came back to him then; the magical land in the lake, the ancient song coming from the treetops, the little blue forget-me-nots… and that voice. Arthurs voice!

He wrenched his head out of her grasp, turning his gaze to the water. A wave of guilt and disbelief rushed over him. How could he forget? How could he almost forget about Arthur? He had been so caught up, so surpsrised by her return that he had almost...

He made to stand, but her hands held him down, tugging at his arm.

"Colin!"

He stretched his neck, eyes searching the water. He had to go back, had to find it again, wherever it was.

Her voice became insistent. "Colin-"

"What?" He snapped.

"You need to come with me."

"No," he said, eyes still fixed on the lake, "I'm sorry Jenny, there's something I have to-"

She stood up, grabbed him by the shoulders and rattled him violently. He started and turned to look at her.

"Jenny, what-?"

She waved a delicate hand before his face, her pale blue irises burning with urgency. "There's no time to explain. You must follow me!"

She gave his forearms a squeeze, softer this time. "Please."

He gazed into her eyes and instantly, he was trapped by those mesmerizing orbs. It felt almost like a fuzzy blanket was being pulled over his mind. The panic he'd felt only moments ago was washed away and a wave of calm crashed over him. He was reminded of the night he had taken her to his bedroom and instantly he felt safe, secure, just like he he'd done when he held her.

_How can she still have such an effect on me?_

It wasn't as if she was an almost almighty wizard with a never-ending lifespan and the power to make even a lion crawl and mew at her feet. She wasn't supposed to be able to take him down this easily, especially not after all those years – decades in fact! He should have grown immune to such things by now, but he wasn't. And for some reason unknown to all of mankind, her pleading gaze actually made him consider it; to leave Arthur behind and follow her.

_Why?_

Feeling slightly dizzy, he shook his head.

_Because you love her_, his inner voice chided and he wanted to smash his head against a wall.

_Yes! I bloody well know that I love her_, he wanted to scream at himself, _but I have to stay here! I have to search for Arthur!_

He was just about to tell her this when all of a sudden, something hit the back of his head with such strength that he was thrown to the ground, smothering Jenny beneath him. Their foreheads bumped forcefully and he gasped in pain and surprise. He was even more surprised when he realized he was dripping, not because of his earlier escapades in the lake, but because of the monster wave that had just crashed over them, which was the reason for his now pounding head.

_What on earth? A wave? How is that even possible?_

Jenny was squirming beneath him and he quickly pulled back from her, sitting back on his heels. "Are you all right?" He held a hand out to her and she moved to take it, but before her hand reached his, woman's voice rang through the air.

"Don't you dare touch him!"

He startled and immediately turned to find the source of the voice and when he did his mouth fell open in quiet shock. There, standing on the shore, only feet away from them was…

"Freya!"

For the third time that day, his emotions got the better of him and he felt himself bristle inside at the sight of her. She was dressed in a flowing white dress that seemed to move on its own accord and her hair was tumbling down her back and shoulders, reaching almost to her waist. He wanted to run towards her, but the look in her eyes stopped him. There was something about her expression… something almost feral.

Suddenly, he realized she didn't look welcoming at all.

Her eyes were ablaze with anger and her mouth was twisted in a grim sneer. Something about her stance remade him think of a mother bear defending her cup and he was reminded of a beast from long ago; a battered, yet graceful creature with black demon-like wings. She looked absolutely terrifying and he wouldn't have touched her with a fire tong.

He heard a strangled gasp behind him.

Whirling around on the spot, he found Jenny writhing on the ground, clasping her throat with both hands, water spilling out from between her parted lips, dribbling down her chin. Her body was convulsing and her eyes swam with unshed tears, white curls clinging to her, now red, cheeks.

_Oh God, she's drowning from within!_

"No! Freya, stop it!" He turned around to face her. "Stop it, you're killing her!"

Freya didn't even seem to notice him. Her eyes were locked on Jenny and her lips were moving fast. She was obviously casting a spell. Behind him, Jenny was making a gurgling sound and he felt his blood run cold in his veins. He had to do something, or else she would die at his feet. Readying himself for whatever was to come, he took a step towards Freya, but before he managed to act, she leaped forward and in an all-too-swift movement she was standing between him and Jenny.

"Get back, Merlin!" She bellowed, her dark hair was bellowing in the wind, framing her with a whipping, furious halo. Incantations were still flying from her lips and her voice intensified when Jenny tried to raise her arm. It fell limp to the ground.

"Freya, what are you doing?!" he yelled at her, but she ignored him, all her attention focused on the girl in front of her.

"You!" She seethed between clenched teeth. "Get away from him!"

Jenny, now turning purple, screwed her eyes shut and slammed her fists in the sand, but just as the warlock was sure she would faint, the water stopped gushing from her mouth and her trembling stopped. Gasping for air, she lifted her head, and scrambled to her feet. Her chest was heaving and her face seemed swollen and burnt.

"I said, get away from him."

Freya's voice was low and dangerous.

Jenny's large, blue eyes ran back and forth between them, before settling on him, pleading for help. Instinctively he took a step towards her, reminded of the little girl whom had come knocking on his door all those years ago, but when he made the move, Freya's right hand shot out behind her and a great wall of water erupted before his feet.

"Don't!" Her voice was laced with iron and he suddenly felt a need to obey.

He backed away from the waterfront. Even if he could easily break through it with his magic, something in her tone convinced him and despite the urge to stop her, he stayed put when she let her arm drop and the water disappeared back into the earth.

"Stay there, Merlin."

The strangest thing happened.

At the sound if his name something changed in Jenny's eyes and as if on cue they narrowed… and a slow, vicious smile settled on her features.

His mouth went dry.

Suddenly she was completely unfamiliar to him; the girl he knew was wiped away with the change of her face. He could only stare in confusion and shock as this strange, yet still beautiful creature turned her attention to Freya. Brushing dirt and grass from her cloak she tossed her head back and all of a sudden the redness in her cheeks disappeared. She looked completely untouched by what had just happened.

"How delightful to see you, Freya," she gave a little, almost comical bow, "or is it, The Lady of the Lake? Whichever you prefer, I'd be happy to comply." Even her voice sounded different, darker.

Freya merely sneered at her.

"Get back. You have no power here."

"Oh, you'd be surprised." Jenny smirked and a chill ran down his spine. How did she do that?

"Just because you're supported by _them_, you're in no position to feel superior." Her eyes gleamed dangerously. "If it hadn't been for Colin here," she gestured at him and something crackled in the air around her fingers, "I would not hesitate to give you a good run for your money."

He took a step towards her. "What the hell is going on?"

She smiled at him then, a bright, cheerful smile and for the first time since her change, he saw something of the girl he knew in her. "Colin, I'm sorry." She actually looked a little sad. "I haven't been completely honest with you. You see, you and I are much more alike than you know."

She wriggled her outstretched fingers and tiny sparks of what could only be magic shot out from her fingertips. He gasped.

Freya yelled in alarm.

"Stupid wench," Jenny all but spat, «I'm not going to harm him!" She turned to her eyes back to Merlin and her eyes softened a little.

"You're much too precious for that, aren't you, _Emrys_?"

He felt the little hairs on his neck rise. "How do you know my name?"

Jenny laughed in delight, her blond curls bouncing around her shoulders. "I know many things, Emrys," she winked, "especially about you."

Her words broke his confusion and he felt his temper flare. Something about her tone angered him and he felt cheated somehow.

"So it would seem. Who are you?"

She turned serious. "I'm sure this one," she jerked her head in Freya's direction, "will be delighted to tell you all about me." The air crackled again. "Thus now, I have to take my leave. It seems I am not welcome here. We will see each other again, Emrys, before you know it."

She gave another laugh and the sound seemed to echo through the air. The wind picked up and a dark cloud was forming above her. She glanced at it briefly, before turning her attention back to him. "Say hello to your King from me," she raised her arm above her head, her hand dissappearing into the twisting fog.

"Tell him Madame Mim sends her regards."

And at that, the cloud grabbed hold of her, and before he could so much as yell her name, she was gone.


	3. The Prophecy and the Lady of the Lake

**A/N:** So, yeah. I changed he rating to M. Because I have a feeling it will come to that. Also, thank you for your reviews. I appreciate it. I will go back to the first chapters and edit them slightly because I am not at all pleased with how they turned out.  
However, it's not gonna happen NOW.

Also. I forgot to tell you that english isn't my first language, so if you notice any obscene errors, please let me know. Thank you for waiting patiently while my writer's language and inspiration is slowly returning to me after a six years hiatus. I'm hoping to improve with this story.

Have fun!

* * *

The silence that followed was deafening.

The black cloud that had engulfed Jenny went as quickly as it came and the wind – which had almost reached hurricane strength only moments earlier – had leveled off. Nothing moved. Even the water was still, not as much as a ripple breaking the calm. It took a few seconds, perhaps minutes, before he came down and when he did, his head exploded with questions. Questions! He had so many questions it felt as though he was about to burst, but he was unable to find his wits, much less his ability to speak.

_What the hell just happened?_

He wasn't dimwitted. He understood that Jenny wasn't whom she'd pretended to be. She was a sorceress. And by the looks of it, a pretty powerful one too. The way she had controlled that cloud and her sudden disappearance… He had never seen anything like it. He wasn't even sure he could do something like that himself. And that said something, considering he was supposedly the greatest sorcerer ever.

He shuddered.

Her hands… those electric currents around them. He'd felt it, straight to his core, even though she had been standing several feet away. One should not play with powers such as that. He felt slightly sick as images of the girl he once knew flooded his head.

Jenny carrying a tray of tea and biscuits up the stairs to his study, Jenny playing on an old, dusty piano in the candlelight, Jenny dancing on a field of blue forget-me-nots. He could still hear her bell-like laughter, her soft voice and the sound of her footsteps on the wooden floor in his kitchen. She had been so vibrant, so full of life. For a time she had been his only source of human contact. He had watched her grow into a… what exactly? An evil sorceress with ulterior motives?

Truth to be told, he couldn't know if she was in fact evil or not. She had, to her defense, said that she wouldn't hurt him, whatever that had meant. Yet, the way she had sputtered at Freya, those hard, unyielding eyes… He'd seen evil before, and he had seen hatred. Lots of hatred.

Kilgarrah's voice from long ago echoed in his head. What was it the dragon had said again_? There is no right or wrong, only what is and what isn't? _

He wished he could believe that. He really did, but he had seen far too much cruelty and madness to even be remotely inclined to do so. Not only had he lived through countless of wars and experienced immense suffering and pain on the behalf of others; He had seen people knowingly destroy their relationships, sometimes solely out of jealousy or plain stubbornness. He had witnessed families and friends break their bonds without ever looking back and watched as men and women butchered one another to gain power. He had seen children killed for country and entire populations erased from the face of the earth. And it was beyond him how any of that could simply _be_.

His thoughts drifted back to Jenny. Was it possible that he had misunderstood?

No.

That smile spoke for itself. He had seen it before. Only back then it had belonged to a woman he preferred not to think about. A dark and treacherous woman whom had singlehandedly, with a little help from her allies, turned his entire world upside down crushed it like a bug under her feet.

How could he not have recognized it? Well, for one, she had never shown any signs of being neither mad, nor evil. She had seemed innocent, pure. Nothing about her had spoken of sorcery or magic. She had been a happy, talented child and a warm, loving woman. That smile. How could that cold, yet beautiful smile belong to Jenny? _His_ Jenny. She had never smiled at him like that before.

A low moan from Freya reached his consciousness. He jumped at the sound and turned hastily to look at her. He'd almost forgotten about her presence. The dark haired woman appeared to be exhausted. Her eyes were bleary and red around the corners and her skin was very pale. All the strength she'd possessed before seemed to have left her. She could merely stand. Hurrying to her side, he grabbed her by the elbow just before her knees gave in.

"Freya, are you all right?"

She gave a strained nod, clutching his arm for support, fingers digging into his skin.

"Yes. Or I will be at least."

He wasn't sure of how to proceed. He still felt dizzy from what had just happened. And frankly, he had no idea of what to say about it. He only had questions. Yet, he felt like he owed her something – and it had been years, hundreds of them in fact, since he'd last seen her.

"It's… good to see you. And thank you, I guess." It was all he could come up with.

She looked up at him and for the first time since her appearance she looked more or less like he remembered her. Fatigued, but familiar none the less. Her eyes were the same forest floor- brown and they were warm now, not angry. He noticed, like before, that her hair had grown. It almost reached her hips. She looked beautiful. Stunning in fact. A lot better than him, he imagined. He wondered briefly if she too could change her appearances, seeing as after all she should look about fifteen hundred years old, like him. Did the lake confine people so that they wouldn't change with time? Her hair growth denied that. Maybe, he thought with some amusement, being in Avalon could be compared to being in what the Christians called Heaven. Maybe, when you went there, your beauty and wealth reached its full potential and you became the best possible version of yourself. He made a mental note to ask her that later, but right now there were others, far more pressing matters to deal with.

"It's good to see you too." She was smiling; there was something safe about her presence and it instantly made him feel better. His brain started to cooperate and the questions lined up in his mind.

"She called herself Mim." He blurted, referring to Jenny.

Her smile faltered a little.

"Yes. _Madame Mim_, they call her."

He frowned.

"They?"

"The Sidhe. They have been speaking of her coming for centuries. Apparently her birth has been foreseen. She is supposedly the greatest sorceress ever to walk the earth. Some say she's even more powerful than you."

He actually scoffed at her.

"More powerful than me? I don't mean to sound arrogant, Freya, but I have lived-"

"-for a thousand years and more, yes." She fixed him with a stern look and it made him smirk despite himself.

Freya on the other had didn't seem pleased.

"There is something about her, Merlin. She has very powerful magic. I sensed it the moment she stepped into the lake. I have never felt anything like it."

Her eyes were solemn, worried even. "She is not to be underestimated. Besides, if the Sidhe are right, you have to be prepared."

"She said she wouldn't hurt me."

A look of uncertainty flittered across her face. "I don't know what to make of it. The prophecy doesn't say-"

"Prophecy?" That caught his attention.

"There's a prophecy?"

Of course there is a prophecy, he thought bitterly. His entire existence was a prophecy.

"Yes." Freya let out a sigh, seemingly reading his thoughts.

"The Sidhe say that she has an important role to play in…" her gaze met his and it was filled with something that looked like pity, "… in the coming of King Arthur."

His blood went cold and he found it hard to breathe. "You mean…?"

She nodded. "The second coming. We believe she will be trying to prevent it."

"But why?"

Another look of pity was directed at him.

"You'll have to ask the Sidhe, they know more than I do. All I can tell you, Merlin , is that she is dangerous, and strong." The ghost of a sneer flittered across her face. "Apparently, she can transform herself into whatever she wishes. Animals, dead things, even other people. This prophecy should not be taken lightly."

"No," she was right, it shouldn't, "I know."

Anything that could harm Arthur… again...

Something nudged his brain.

"Freya?"

"Hm?"

"That voice…" he suddenly had trouble saying it, "his voice…"

"Arthur?"

He swallowed, throat thick with worry. "Yes. Was it… Was it really him? Or was it her all along?"

She seemed to sense his discomfort. "No, Merlin. What you heard was Arthur." Her features softened a little. "He's been calling to you for some time. That's how I knew you were here."

That puzzled him.

"What do you mean?"

"He knew you were here. He felt you."

His heart tossed itself from a high place.

"Arthur's been calling for me?" It came out a whisper and he mentally cursed himself.

"Yes."

He bit his lip and nodded. It was all he could do not to throw himself into the lake again. His heart was still freefalling and little butterflies of anticipation were fluttering their wings in his belly.

"So…" He had to wrestle the words from his tongue, "where is he then?"

She glanced at the water and a slow smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. He realized he was pouting and stopped it immediately. That only made her grin wider.

"I think you know."

"He's in Avalon." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

He searched her eyes for more information, but she just kept smiling in that strange way of hers.

"So…" he began, uncertain, "how do I get to him?"

Suddenly he felt scared.

"I am supposed to get to him, aren't I?"

A breathy laugh escaped her. "Yes, Merlin. You are. Very soon."

Simultaneously he felt the urge both to jig and to hug her. Luckily he managed to stop himself from doing neither.

"How soon?" The butterflies in his belly seemed to be forming a colony.

"Well," Freya eyed the water again and he could have sworn he saw a flicker of mirth dance across her face, "by the looks of it, very soon." He tried to follow her gaze, but all he saw was the lake. And it looked exactly like it always had. There were no traces of magical lands underneath its surface.

He looked up.

"It disappeared." He blurted.

At her slight frown he gestured to the lake, "Avalon. It disappeared. Just before-"

"Because of her."

He realized she was talking about Jenny – Mim.

"It retreated the moment it felt her presence. She is not welcome there."

"Oh." He rubbed his face with both hands, unable to look at her. Again, he felt a pang of sadness in his chest and the flutter of wings subsided a little.

"I see."

He understood now. Why he had felt the urge to come with her. Why he had almost forgotten about Arthur. It all made sense now, the power she had over him. Yet he couldn't quite rid himself of the guilt he felt.

He should have known better!

And to think that it wasn't even out of love. It was never love. It was simply… magic.

For an instant, he could almost understand Uther's hatred and a storm of rage and despair crashed through him. How could he have been so blind? Why did he not discover her true nature? She lived with him for years, goddammit! He had let himself be fooled by her. Fooled by her beauty, her wit, her charm… he had loved her. And it had all been a lie. She had never loved him in return. All she'd wanted was to meddle with his destiny. To keep him from Arthur.

"Merlin, what is it?" As if reading his mind, she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, piercing him with a burning gaze. "How exactly do you know her?"

Taken aback by her sudden inquisition, he shook his head violently.

"It's nothing."

She arched a delicate eyebrow at him.

"No really," he lifted his arms defensively, "we just met. Well, recently anyway."

She didn't believe him, he could tell, but thankfully she didn't argue any further.

He was not ready to tell her exactly how well he knew Mim.

The information about her being an evil sorceress alone was almost too much for him to process. He had, unbeknownst to anyone, housed the perhaps deadliest threat to his own destiny for years and what's worse, he had slept with her! He wondered briefly why he hadn't sensed her magic when they were living together, but dared not ask Freya, afraid she might put two and two together and figure him out.

"You said her birth has been foreseen." He managed.

"Yes."

He furrowed his brows. "Why didn't Kilgarrah tell me about her?"

Freya mirrored his expression. "I don't know."

"Hm." It seemed the dragon hadn't known everything after all. The thought somehow displeased him. He'd always believed the dragon was keeping things from him, but now it seemed he actually didn't know. Unless, of course, he had decided to withhold he information, which he seriously doubted. No, something like this should have reached him.

"You should ask him."

His eyes snapped open.

"Ask him? Kilgarrah?"

She nodded and for an instance he wondered if she had lost her mind. Maybe staying in Avalon for too long wasn't healthy.

"But he's dead. How can I ask him anything when he's dead? "

She smiled at him then, a wistful, almost mischievous smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. "He might no longer be a part of your world, Merlin, but that doesn't mean he's gone entirely." She winked and suddenly he understood.

"You mean he's there? In Avalon?" Suddenly he remembered the thunderous laugh that had filled the sky earlier that morning and on instinct, he craned his neck, as if expecting to see the Dragon appear above them.

Was it really possibly that Kilgarrah could be there? And if so, how come he hadn't revealed to Merlin that they would see each other again? The warlock could easily remember the day the beast had passed away all those year ago. He hadn't been there to witness it, but when it happened a candle had flickered and died inside of him. He had tried calling him, just to confirm his fears and as expected the sky remained un-answering. Another part of his soul had left him that day.

He suddenly felt a rush of hope.

If Kilgarrah was in fact in Avalon… The thought of seeing the beast again, if only just to chat made him strangely giddy inside. For one, he believed he would understand Kilgarrah better now. He was, after all, a lot older and like the dragon before him, he had experienced being the last of his kind. He realized just then how lonely it must have felt and a wave of sympathy towards the great creature washed over him. If only he had understood before. However, he had been nothing but a boy back then and his mind hadn't been able to fully wrap itself around it. Now, millennia later, he _did_ understand. And if by some miracle it wasn't too late to let the dragon know…

Freya's faint chuckle pulled him out of his musings and he turned to look at her. For a brief moment he wondered what was so damn funny about his confusion that she had to laugh, and anger rose in his chest.

Did she not understand how long he had waited for something like this to happen? How long he had begged the universe to give him just the tiniest hint about his future? Or how he'd dreamt every night for the past few months of the people he had left behind?

He was about to lash out at her, but when he saw the warmth in her eyes, he calmed down and realized he must have looked pretty stupid ogling into space like that.

He suddenly felt a little lost and she must have sensed it, for she placed a soft hand on his forearm and patted him gently.

"Merlin. I'm sorry. I know this can't be easy for you."

_Easy? _

_Of course it's easy. _

_Waiting fifteen hundred years was the hard part_.

He was about to protest, but she stopped him with a squeeze of her fingers. "Listen. Avalon is the very home of magic. The island itself is woven in it, every tree, every branch, all of it. There, magic has the same effect as the sun has here on the mainland. It grants life to everything. Without it, there would be no Avalon."

He nodded slowly, knowing she was right. He had felt it too when he'd looked into the water. The way the very air swam with it, how it called out to him and made his blood sing in recognition.

Freya gave an almost sad smile. "Avalon is the only remaining place on earth where magic still resides. Therefore, beings of the Old Religion are bound to it, as it is bound to them. They are equally dependent on one another to exist."

She pointed at the ground behind him. He turned, and to his astonishment, a trail of little blue flowers – forget-me-nots – followed in his footsteps.

"See? Even here, at the shore..."

"It's absorbing my magic." He mumbled, unable to look at her, afraid that she might read his face. "It's been doing it for years. Never this fast though. Must be the presence of…" he trailed off, desperately trying not to blush.

_Dammit!_ He was one and a half thousand years old; He should blush like a schoolgirl over such matters. In fact, he shouldn't blush at all!

He could feel her step closer. "You know," she murmured in his ear, "those flowers… they grow all over the valley of Kings."

His head snapped up to look at her, all else forgotten. "Where he…?" His voice was just beyond a whisper.

She nodded.

_Damn._

He racked his brain for something to say, but found nothing. How could he tell her what those flowers meant to him? She'd understand, he knew, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to say it. Silence stretched between them and eventually, she took pity on him and let go of his gaze.

"After Arthur was brought to rest," the name rolled of her tongue like silk and he felt the creatures in his stomach flutter to life again at her words, "others have come as well, including your friend, The Great Dragon. Some of them are still sleeping, waiting for the right moment to be awakened, while others prepare for the return of the fallen King." She hesitated for a bit and he knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"So…" he measured his words carefully, "what you're saying is that people with magic…"

"Return to the shores of Avalon, yes."

Something suddenly dawned on him. "That's how you fought her off."

Freya frowned at him for a moment before understanding. "Mim? Yes."

She gave a small shrug. "But if it hadn't been for the combined magic of all those resting in Avalon, I don't think I could have done it." An expression of worry grazed her. "Like I said, she's strong, Merlin."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "You did great." That was an understatement actually. Freya had been amazing back there.

Her mouth curled slightly. "I suppose I wasn't too shabby."

He could feel his own grin forming. "Not too shabby at all. Although I am wondering… how were you able to use the water like that? It was very impressive."

For a moment she looked almost proud, but her expression soon faltered and he knew she was about to tell him something he wouldn't want to hear.

_Oh dear._

"Like I said, the island feeds on energy submitted by those with magic. Since you sent me here after I died," his heart clenched at the painful memory, "I sort of became attached to the water."

He blinked at her.

"I became The Lady of the Lake, which means I am the one in charge of the passageways."

"Passageways?"

She nodded. "Most that come to Avalon are asleep or fatally wounded. Someone has to make sure they find their way."

"And that's your job?" He didn't understand.

She chuckled. "No, not exactly." A bird cooed softly somewhere. "When someone, dead or alive, wants to enter the island, I feel this pull… sort of." She gestured to her abdomen. "And I know I have to go down to the shore. Sometimes I have to wait for a while, but in the end, there's always a boat in the distance. It's by job to guide it across."

"And they all come in boats?"

She nodded again and her eyes traveled to a place he couldn't follow. "There are two ways of getting there. Either you enter from the water or from the sky. Most people aren't airborne, so they come-"

"- in boats, yes." He was beginning to understand. "But there's one thing I don't get."

"What's that?"

He frowned. "I've been living by this lake of Avalon for, well, for quite some time, and I have never seen anyone... you know. How is that possible?"

It didn't make sense. If people frequently traveled across the lake he should have seen it. Especially if they were dying.

Freya seemed to understand where he was coming from and again he saw a shadow of sadness skim across her face. He suddenly dreaded her answer.

"I know it sounds a little strange, but Merlin, this isn't the only lake that's connected to the Isle."

"What do you mean?"

"Avalon can appear anywhere if need be."

He had absolutely no clue of what she was talking about.

"What?"

"The island itself is located nowhere and everywhere. If someone needs to get there, all they have to do is wish for it. If they have magic… or they are meant to be there, the island appears."

Now _those_ were news. His stomach dropped. Instantly he felt cold.

"Merlin, there's nothing you could have done," Freya shot in, clearly prepared for his reaction. "Even if you had known it wouldn't have made a difference. It was his destiny."

He could hear he bitterness in his own voice. "I'm beginning to hate that word."

"I know."

"_Destiny is a tricky thing."_

What an extreme understatement that had been!

His insides felt numb as memories of old descended in his mind. All those times, all the fear, the worry… He had never been in control of anything, had he? It had all been mapped out, planned, down to the smallest detail. He never really stood a chance.

He gave an exasperated sigh and decided it was better not think about it. His head was hurting.

"So what you're saying is that Avalon is mobile?"

"Yes, if you wish."

"Like a… a submarine. Does it _actually_ move?"

Her sudden laugh surprised him. He blinked at her. "What?"

"No," she managed to choke, "it doesn't move."

She continued to laugh and he was impassive, a little confused to be honest. What was so funny? All right, maybe the use of the word submarine was a little bit overkill, but still. It seemed appropriate, didn't it?

"I'm sorry," she said after some time, wiping her eyes, "I'm not laughing at your question. It's just… that thing you do, tilting you head to the side like that", another fit of giggles escaped her; "I remember it. It makes you look so young."

He felt a pang of sadness at her words. Young? Since when had he felt or acted young?

_Not for a thousand years. Not since_ that_ day._

_Not until now. _

As he looked into Freya's deep brown eyes he realized that this was the first time in hundreds of years that he hadn't felt like an old prune in comparison to everyone else around him.

The thought nearly made him gasp.

Freya had lived for as long as he had and even if she hadn't been where he had been, or seen the world develop like he had, she must have gained the same amount of reflection and insight as he had over the years.

_She knows how it is._

For so many lifetimes he had walked the earth and all the people he had ever met, except perhaps from old Dayne, had seemed untouched by time. Fierce and yet naïve, idealistic in a way he couldn't understand. They had all acted as if their last day was soon upon them, which in retrospect, he could say they were right about. To him, they all seemed impatient. While in reality, he was the one who'd grown so accustomed to waiting that it had become a part of him.

"Merlin, are you all right?" Her words made him snap out of it. She was regarding him intensely, worry written all over her delicate features.

"Yeah – sorry, I just got caught up in my own thought."

Grinning sheepishly, he shook his head. "You know, it's very strange talking to someone who's been around for as long as I have."

She seemed to understand and her eyes softened a little. "Yes. I know." A warm smile settled on her lips. "You'll get used to it."

He thought about it.

Actually, he felt used to it already. It was almost as if the moment he met her again, he'd turned younger, not only in appearance, but in spirit as well. He felt more like his old self than he had done in millennia.

His mind drifted to Arthur and he wondered whether or not he'd feel the same when he finally met him again. Would he still be the Merlin Arthur had known and would the King be the man he remembered? Or would the gap of time that had passed between them somehow keep them apart?

He shuddered, pushing the thought away. He'd deal with that later. Suddenly remembering what they had been talking about earlier he turned his attention back to Freya.

"So, you tend to those who are sent here?"

She nodded. "Yes. When they arrive I steer their boat towards the shore and once they are here they are either left to rest in the Valley or they wake instantly. Most of the ones who wake wants to live in the village-"

He cocked his head again and she grinned.

"That's right. We built a village in the forest. You'll get to see it soon."

His head swam with all the information, but he still had unanswered questions. His mind could rest later.

"The people who come…" he mused, "are you the one who grants them permission to stay?"

"Oh, no," she shook her head hastily, "that's not in my hands. Mostly the people who come have magic. But some are…" she seemed to be searching for words, "… ordinary."

He furrowed his brows. "Without magic, you mean."

"Yes."

"Why are they there?"

She fixed him with an intense stare and for some reason his pulse sped up. "Some of them claim they were sent by people with magic. Others…" She put a hand of his shoulder and the air around them seemed to buzz with energy. He braced himself.

"Others, " she continued, not breaking eye contact, "are sent there because they haven't fulfilled their destinies yet."

He gaped at her.

"What you're saying is…"

"Yes."

She inhaled deeply.

"Just like you, they are bound to serve The Once and Future King."

Words weren't needed, but they escaped him anyway.

"My friends."

Freya smiled then, a big and heartfelt smile laced with promises and suddenly the lake was glowing once more.

He didn't have to look. He knew what was coming. The ancient song from before rose from the deep again and as it filled his ears he realized he was about to go back in time. Back to the life that was both his past and his future. The life he had never forgotten, despite all his efforts.  
The bird from before sang yet another drawn out tune, but in the before it was done it was cut off abruptly. The world he had known for so long disappeared and around him another emerged. The sunlight on his face felt strangely out of place, but the feeling of magic in the air didn't.

He was home.


	4. Avalon

**Disclaimer:** The characters belongs to the BBC, not me.  
**Warnings:** None yet, except for extreme sappiness.

**Authors note:** I'm sorry I spent like a decade updating this. Exams suck. Anyway, I hope you like the newest chapter, even if it's kind of explanatory. The next one will have more action in it. I swear.

Enjoy!

Ps. Please keep in mind english is not my primary language. If you find any mistakes, please correct me. Toodles!

* * *

lvVvØvVvl

They were standing on a field of grass just beside the outline of a forest. The sun was shining brilliantly above them, but between heavy moss-covered trunks, gloom lingered, only broken by small lights flickering in between the trees. The colors of the landscape were amazingly bright, as if someone had blown away the dust covering an old painting and revealed the true beauty of the artwork. The air was crisp and loaded with magic and he felt it slowly slither through his nostrils and down his throat only to find resonance within him.

A feeling of immense power and energy filled him and suddenly, he no longer felt like the last of his kind.

There was something about the way the wind caressed his face, how the trees seemed to whisper their greetings and how the ground beneath his feet felt welcoming and secure that made it all familiar, safe. This new land was open to him, glad of his coming and it felt almost as if he had been expected. Avalon, although it was nothing like the world he had lived in for so long, was a place he instantly felt like he knew. A place meant for people like him, made of people like him; people with magic.

That feeling alone would have been enough. He could have lived on for another thousand years because of it.

After all the loneliness he had felt, after all the heartache, simply knowing he was not alone in the world was almost enough to heal the wounds he had been hiding for so long. However, there was one element that overshadowed everything else; an element which made his skin prickle and burn and the blood in his veins run faster with every pump of his heart.

Arthur's presence was overwhelming.

The very fabric of the surroundings was woven with threads of him, golden and red, fierce, passionate, eccentric… It was as if the very air around them was filled with him. He could sense the King in a way he hadn't been able to since he fell and turned his back on the world of the living. His magic reacted instantly; like someone dropped a stone into an old, unused well. Somewhere in the deep it connected with a calm, undisturbed surface and something which had been dormant for decades began to stir, creating ripples that only expanded. It was quite a shock.

Before he knew it he was kneeling in the grass, fingers digging into the soil beneath him, inhaling not only air, but Arthur himself. A breathy laugh escaped him.

Suddenly, he was reminded of how it felt to be in the same room as Arthur and how the entire atmosphere changed when he walked out. He remembered how it felt to ride alongside the other man through the woods, how his body always tensed and relaxed at the same time whenever Arthur addressed him for the first time in the morning. How the King's mood could color an entire chamber and the people within it and how he, without as much as moving or making a sound, could make himself noticed simply by being who he was.

All of this came back now and his mind went blank, leaving nothing behind but pure and raw emotion.

Passion, anger – anger because he had been alone for so long –, gratefulness towards every force in the universe that had made this reunion possible, joy, immense happiness and strangest of all; fear. A feeling that he hadn't felt since that fateful day all those lifetimes ago, that had been buried with Arthur, because after that there really hadn't been anything truly frightful left in the world.

Yet now, as he could feel the presence of his destiny tugging at every string of his being, it came back to him with renewed strength. Again, the world felt dangerous and betraying. Much like it had felt back when he was still the King's manservant. When assassins were lurking in every shadow and no rock could remain unturned. The same overpowering fear grabbed hold of him now, but for the first time ever he was glad of it, because it meant he had something to protect once more.

It had always been Arthur.

Hands fisting the soft grass, he remembered the boy the met in the courtyard all those lifetimes ago. The young and fearless _prat _who was to become the greatest King the world had ever known, a legend.

How could he not have appreciated him back then? How had it taken him so long to understand that he was meant to follow him, to be by his side through everything, to guard and protect him, service and advise him?

He hadn't found Arthur's company very pleasing in the beginning. As a matter of fact, he had right out disliked the man and with good reason. Arthur had been childish, rude, condescending- he had been a royal arse to be honest. And he, Merlin, hadn't even remotely believed Kilgarrah the first time the dragon told him about Arthur's destiny. Yet now, after all the years that had passed, he found it hard to understand how he could have ever doubted it.

True, Arthur remained a stubborn, hotheaded clothpole till the day he died, but there was so much more to him than that. And even if nobody saw all the things he saw (being the King's manservant kind of offers fist-row tickets to everything), Merlin knew that others could sense it as well. That Arthur was destined for greatness, that there was something about him. Something about the way he always defended the weakest, supported the underdog and never gave up on someone even though everyone else had. Arthur might not have been the kindest man on the planet, but he had been righteous, always righteous, and rooted in his belief in justice.

He clutched the grass tighter.

Some had called Arthur a fool. Morgana, Uther, Agravaine… They had all believed he was weak. But Merlin knew that wasn't the case. Arthur was _just_ and above all, he listened to his heart. He relied on the people he loved and his enemies knew how to take advantage of that.

His chest stung a little when he remembered Arthur's words to him when they were riding for Avalon after the battle at Camlann, after he had revealed his magic.

"_I trusted you."_

Merlin had known back then that Arthur was silently comparing him to all the other people he had trusted and cared for- who had betrayed him in the end, and another piece of his soul had been ripped away with those words. He would probably never forgive himself for the hurt he had seen in those tired eyes, but he had vowed, after Arthur's warmth had left his body, that he would somehow make up for it.

Now, being here, palms pressed against what seemed to be the King himself, he finally felt like he had the chance to do so.

"He's here!" He all but shouted and Freya gave a smiling nod beside him.

"Yes". She didn't seem to mind that he was sprawled out on the ground like a maniac.

"Did you not believe me?"

He didn't answer right away. He couldn't tell her that he had been afraid to believe her just like he had been afraid to believe Kilgarrah all those years before.

"I understand," she offered when he didn't reply,"I know what hope can do to a person."

He knew she was right. If anyone knew what it was like to live with hope, it was her. And she knew just how much it hurt to have it taken away.

"Yeah," he mumbled and closed his eyes, "it can be both the most wonderful and the most painful thing in the world."

After Arthur's death he had told himself that the Dragon's prophecy might be false, that there could be some kind of mistake and that maybe, Arthur was never going to return to him. Despite his heart telling him differently, he wouldn't allow himself to trust it completely seeing as the pain that would follow if the King never returned would be the death of him. Not that _that_ would be so bad. He didn't fear his own death, only other's.

Sometimes he had told himself that if Arthur didn't show up during the coming century, he would somehow find a way to end it all, but every time the thought occurred to him he was soon after ambushed by some kind of sign spiking his hope. It could be a dream, a memory, a strangely shaped cloud… And besides, he would never have followed through with it. The mere thought of Arthur returning after he himself had passed away was suffocating. He was certain he would have felt that even in his grave. No, he had decided he would wait, determined, however, to keep hope at an arm's length.

Freya laid a hand on his shoulder, as if reading his mind.

"There's no need to dwell upon that any longer. You're here now. And so is he."

She was right again. If Arthur was truly here –and Merlin knew he was – he'd have time to make good on his promise. Arthur might have died unaware of all the things Merlin had done for him, but he would know now, how devoted the warlock was to him. Merlin would do all that was in his power to make sure Arthur never had to doubt him ever again. And he wasn't going to let anyone hurt him. Not even someone he had loved once and still loved. Whatever her plan was, Jenny, now Madame Mim, wouldn't have the opportunity to touch a single hair on his head. He wouldn't allow it.

"Merlin." Freya was tapping her foot against the ground and he realized he was sitting with loose strains of grass in his hands.

He tried his best to sound normal.

"Yes?"

"We need to move. Everyone is waiting for us."

He blinked. "Everyone?"

"Like you said, your friends, and Arthur of course. They will all be down in the village."

Scrambling to his feet, brushing the dirt off his knees and fingers, he realized he had forgotten to ask a few vital questions. Like when Arthur had returned.

And _why?_

That was a question ha hadn't dared asking yet. A question that had manifested itself in his mind the moment he understood it was time.

Kilgarrah had said that the Once and Future King would rise again when he was needed, and surely that meant he had to face some kind of danger, _again_ and this worried Merlin beyond anything.

He had lived through so many terrible wars and Arthur hadn't returned during any of them. What could possibly be a bigger threat to humanity than the atom bomb? And how would Arthur, with his medieval upbringing, be able to handle anything conjured by people of modern times? He'd slept through a millennium of changes and didn't know anything about the technological developments, the scientific discoveries or the philosophical ideas that had circulated in the fifteen hundred years that had passed.

Merlin would be there to guide him, of course. And he would do his best to face the challenges with him, even if it meant he had to forsake his own life. But in his heart, he dreaded what was to come. How could Arthur possibly step into a world that was completely unrecognizable and make changes for good? What could a sword, even one as powerful as Excalibur, accomplish against weapon of mass-destruction or entire armies of firearms?

The warlock feared it might destroy him. Or worse, appall him.

Yes, that was also a stone weighing him down; Arthur's reaction all of it. What if he wasn't pleased with what he found? Would he appreciate the way society had developed? Would he agree with the pillars which upon it were built?

All these questions made his head hurt. He decided to start with the easiest one.

"When did he wake up?"

Freya bit her lip and there was a hint of caution in her eyes. Again, he got the feeling that she was about to tell him something he'd be better off not knowing again. He crossed his arms over his chest. Whatever it was, he had to withstand it, for Arthur.

"Merlin, we should really…"

He knew that tone and he wasn't having any of it.

"_Freya_, how long has he been conscious?" He asked pointedly and for a second he was reminded Arthur and the way he used to say Merlin's name when there was something the warlock didn't want to tell him. The comparison almost made him feel bad for her.

It seemed to work though, because Freya was bowing her head in defeat.

"All right," she said sullenly, "But you have to promise not to…"

_Not to what?_

She eyed him almost pleadingly for a moment, as if she was silently asking him not to throw some kind of fit at her next words.

He merely continued to stare at her.

With a soft sigh she lifted her head and looked him straight in the eyes. "He's been conscious the entire time."

His jaw dropped.

"What?! But you said-"

"I know." She looked apologetic. "I said he was brought to rest. However, that doesn't mean he has been sleeping. He's just been…" she searched for words. "He's been…. out of reach for us."

He furrowed his brows in confusion.

_What's that supposed to mean? _

"You see, Merlin," Freya continued, voice steady, but low, "when people are resting here they live inside their own mind and what happens there is not for us to know. Arthur has been conscious since he came here, not exactly dreaming, but simply existing in a sphere built upon his experiences of the world."

She paused, a small crease appearing on her forehead. She looked so vulnerable he almost found it hard to believe this was the woman he had seen fighting off a powerful sorceress only earlier that day. A sudden gust of wind grabbed hold of her dress and caused the silken material to stand out behind her like a cape. Her eyes were unfocused, far away, and he wondered what she saw.

"I remember it almost like walking through a painting of my everyday life. Things were a bit washed out, but the people… the people seemed real."

His insides flopped violently.

"So what you're saying is that he has been awake and capable, but unable to talk to anyone?"

Freya nodded. "Well, no one but those he's met within himself."

The air felt a little too tight all of a sudden and he realized the wind was picking up.

Freya seemed to notice. "We should go, Merlin." She gestured for him to follow her and started walking towards the forest. He went after her, feeling slightly numb all over. It was a lot to take in.

He looked forward to the shelter of the trees though. Strange leaves were now whipping around their ears and Freya's dress was still trying to flee from her body. It was odd, really, how it had been sunny and calm only moments before and now gray clouds were gathering in the horizon. Well, that did he know anyway? Maybe this weather was normal here. He still had a lot to learn about Avalon.

"Who will he have met?" The question simply slipped out of him.

"I can't really say, Merlin." His heart sank and she placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "However, we can assume he has been surrounded by people that meant something to him in his life. At least it was like that for me."

_People that meant something to him? _

He wondered idly if Arthur had been 'dreaming' of him, like he had been dreaming of the King lately. A part of him hoped so, but another was afraid of what Arthur might have seen. The Merlin he had met, had he been different from the real Merlin?

Images of a sleeping Arthur in the gloom of his bedroom snuck their way into his head and he lowered his gaze to the ground, trying to focus on the grass and roots beneath his feet.

Arthur had looked so _non-regal_ in his dream. Small, like a child or a very young teenager, no King at all. Merlin couldn't recall ever seeing Arthur so vulnerable when he was alive. And when he had opened his eyes and looked straight at him, orbs black against marble skin, too big to be real… That strange expression…

The memory made him slightly uncomfortable. Arthur been too close. Way too close.

"You know…" Freya's voice pulled him back to their current conversation, "I'm sure you were there with him."

He found himself struggling desperately not to show her how much those words affected him. Even if it was silly, he didn't want her to think of him as a pining old fool. She'd already seen him trying to rip off an entire field of grass with his bare hands.

He managed to pull a crooked grin.

"Maybe when he was having a nightmare," he offered, "or when he needed his cup refilled."

She laughed at that, but simultaneously seemed a bit thrown off.

He could see it in her eyes, the same look he used to see in the eyes of everyone who had observed him and Arthur together for the first time. A mixture of amusement, shock and sheer horror. A look saying; 'how can a servant possibly act like that towards his King?'

They were all in awe of him back them, loyalty and respect towards the King so deeply rooted that no one even questioned it, much less acted against it. In retrospect he could understand how strange it must have seemed, that he, a simple peasant, had talked back when the ruler of the land confronted him, but during that time he had simply rolled with the punches. Bantering with Arthur had come almost as natural to him as blinking.

"Anyway," Freya continued, and he turned to her again, "we suspect his inner world has offered him quite a lot of turmoil lately."

"What kind of turmoil?" He pressed, ignoring the way his scarf played around his chin. They were nearing the edge of the forest and once they were safely beneath the heavy crowns of the trees, the wind would probably be noticeably calmer.

"Before he returned only days ago, weird things have happened around here."

She smacked her lips, "And considering this is Avalon… "

"Weird means _weird,_" he finished.

A chuckle escaped her.

"Exactly."

So, weird things had been happening, now had it? Considering it was Arthur, this didn't surprise him at all. He was curious though, and wondered what kind of stuff she was referring to.

"Well," Freya shrugged at his question, "he's been wrecking a little havoc here and there."

The way she said it made him grin despite himself and passionate, yet familiar warmth spread from his chest. How he could relate to _that_! Arthur had always been explosive. He was pretty sure he had a few bulks in the skull that could tesify about it.

He suppressed a laugh.

"Havoc?" He managed, interrupted mid-word by his scarf that for some reason was trying to force itself into his mouth.

_What's with all this wind?_

"Uh," a sheepish look grazed Freya and she eyes his scarf for a moment, "a storm here and a landslide there."

This time he did laugh.

"You mean Arthur has somehow… Are you saying his mood is affecting the weather?"

Freya's voice was dry.

"Something like that."

He laughed louder, but was cut off abruptly when his scarf succeeded its mission due to a particular strong gust of wind. He gasped in surprise, and simultaneously, thunder rolled in the distance. Freya, whom was now laughing as well, reached behind his neck and freed him off the treacherous cloth threatening to choke him. She inspected it for a moment, a fond smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Definitely something like that."

Suddenly, realization hit him and he stared at her, wide-eyed.

"Is this him?" Stepping back a little, he pointed at the piece of fabric in her hand. "Is he doing this?"

Freya's hair was cascading around her face, making her look like some strange windblown scarecrow. Except prettier, he thought. Much prettier.

"Yes," she answered breathlessly, "Even now that he has returned to us, Arthur's ability to affect his place is remarkable. This wind has been present ever since we told him I was going to find you."

She handed the scarf to him and he tucked it safely away in his pocket, happy for an excuse to fiddle with something.

"He is restless for your company."

Arthur was restless? He had to bite his tongue.

Really?

He had been waiting fifteen hundred years without as much as creating a slight breeze and now Arthur was tearing the place down after a few weeks of waiting for him?

_Really?!_

"Well, even if he's restless there's no need for him to act all-"

Thunder rumbled in the distance, louder now. They looked at each other.

"That's just immature!"

He was cut off as the earth gave a violent shake beneath them. Now _that_ was unnerving.

Freya staggered beside him. He managed to grab her just before she lost her balance and holding her tightly by the waist he guided them into a half sitting position and steadied himself on his knees. A flock of birds lifted from the treetops nearby and he could hear them screeching at each other in panic.

"What is happening?"

He was unable to read Freya's expression, but he thought it was one of anticipation. This worried him a little. What was she waiting for?

In the distance he thought he heard and echo of something very familiar, but before was able to figure out what it was, the wind died down and everything went completely silent. He helped Freya to her feet.

"What was that?"

The dark haired woman simply placed a finger on his lips.

"Listen."

He did.

One moment all that could be heard was the low chatter of the birds in the distance. Then, the surroundings seemed to take a deep breath and when it exhaled, the air was swimming with sound.

Somewhere from the very heart of the island a voice called out to him. A clear and unmistakable voice, searching for confirmation; A voice that demanded an answer and wanted it _now_. A voice he knew like he knew his own. He had heard it before only this morning. It was a drawn out roar of pure anger.

_Merliiiiiiiiiiiiiin!_

The prat might as well have used a megaphone.

He would have laughed if he hadn't been afraid he would start crying at the same time. Never had he imagined he would be this happy to hear Arthur call his name like that.

Placing his hands on his hips, he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Is he always this noisy?" He gestured at nothing in particular, for Arthur seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once. "It's a little rude of him if you ask me. Didn't you say people were resting here?"

Still smiling, Freya gave a little shrug and tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear. "To his defense he has shown quite the amount of patience." Her eyes twinkled. "We shouldn't keep him waiting much longer."

The butterflies were officially back.

lvVvØvVvl

Eventually the wind died down and they walked in silence for a while. He was so anxious to see Arthur that he almost didn't pay attention to the wonderful world around him. He hardly noticed when they stepped into the forest, but was suddenly surprised by a slowly building choir from the treetops. Again, that ethereal song filled the air and it was more beautiful than any symphony he'd ever heard. The moss beneath their feet was soft and rich and the smell of pines filled the air. Rays of sunlight that had managed to sneak their way through the heavy vegetation painted the forest floor with golden specks and combined with the song of the elves, the landscape was dreamlike, surreal. He felt like he had entered a fairytale.

Among the trunks he could make out tiny faces hiding between the branches. Members of the Sidhe, he thought, recognizing their features. They didn't approach him, but in their eyes he saw a mixture of wonder and amazement. Clearly, they knew him as well as he knew them. Shuddering, he remembered what Freya had said about Mim and the prophecy.

He'd have to talk to them later, but first he was going to see Arthur. That was his primary concern now, as it had been for the past fifteen hundred years. It was weird really, how he had waited for so long without having perished, whereas now, when the time had finally arrived, he could not seem to wait a another minute. Maybe he was a pining idiot after all.

As they walked, he managed to sneak a glance at Freya.

In the dim light between the trees she looked better than she had ever looked when she was alive. _Maybe because she was tormented, broken and covered in dirt when you hid her away in a dungeon_, his inner voice drawled sarcastically. He mentally scowled at himself. _ I had no other choice! She would have died had I not done so. _Freya had been beautiful even back then, yet now, surrounded by all this beauty, he had to admit she looked not only better, but radiant. It was almost as if she was glowing. He was suddenly reminded of Gwen.

_Wait a minute… _

Out of nowhere, a sneaking suspicion manifested itself in his mind. He bit his tongue, determined not to say anything, but after about twenty seconds he felt the taste of blood and the moment he let go, the question jumped out of him.

"Freya?" She turned to him, puzzled by his urgent tone.

"Yes?"

He felt his cheeks flush, but decided to continue anyway, his curiosity winning the battle.

"Are you in love?"

She froze completely and he almost tripped over a rock, trying to read her reaction and manage his feet at the same time.

_Still a clumsy idiot_, a voice sounding suspiciously as Arthur's confirmed dryly from within his head.

Clumsy _and_ rude, he corrected as he watched Freya's expression, which seemed to be set in stone. He realized that he had probably offended her, but before he managed to stutter an apology, a dazzling smile spread across her face and she threw her head back, laughing.

He stared at her, dumbfounded.

When she finally lifted her head to look at him, tears had formed in the corners of her eyes and she looked so amused he had to smile himself.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" He trailed off, waving his hand in a vague, disarming gesture.

Another fit of giggles escaped her and he was left nonplussed. At least it didn't seem like he had affronted her. Though he was suspecting she was having fun on his behalf. He really needed to get out more.

Eventually, she took pity on him.

"It's fine, Merlin."

She drew a short, deep breath.

"In fact, I am."

He lifted his brows.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Well… at least I have taken a certain interest in someone. And he seems to have taken an interest in me as well, so…"

He interpreted her silence as embarrassment, but when he met her gaze it was steady and calm, an unspoken question lingering in her eyes.

_Is that all right?_

He furrowed his brows on confusion.

_What? _

Then he understood.

_Oh. _

For a moment he almost wanted to laugh, but a slowly building pressure in his chest stopped him. He felt old all of a sudden.

_Freya, if you only knew._

Placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, he gave her his most loaded smile. "I am very happy for you."

She practically sighed with relief and all the tension seemed to leave her body her at once. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"So…" He nudged her arm, "Who is he then, the lucky bastard?"

She rolled her eyes at his feigned smugness and seemed to be about to make a snarky comment when her expression changed. Suddenly she was gaping at him.

"Oh dear."

He frowned.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Freya's gaze flickered back and forth, up and down and mouth was opening and closing, but not a word came out. She seemed to be unable to look at him and a slight blush was straining her cheeks. For the first time since their reunion, he saw something of the old, scared Freya in her. She was watching him like he was a predator and she was the prey.

_What is this?_

"Freya?" he pressed, "Why are you-?"

Suddenly something dawned on him. Her reaction... it could only mean one thing.

"I know him!" It wasn't a question.

That made her snap out of it and her gaze shot up tp meet his. Raising her chin, she cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes were blazing. She looked like she was getting ready to defend herself.

_Why on earth does she think she has to do that?_

"Now, I don't want you to judge me, Merlin-"

"What?"

"Because I know full well what you are going to say-"

"I'm not -"

"But-

"-going to say anythmffff-"

She placed a hand over his mouth.

"I don't want to hear it."

They stared at each other for a long time. Then, slowly, oh so slowly, he put a hand over hers and guided it carefully away from his face. Freya's chest was heaving with every intake of breath and her glare shot daggers. The song of the elves seemed to have vanished.

"It's Gwaine, isn't it?"

It was like taking the air out of a balloon.

A high-pitched squeal left her and she buried her face in his chest, her dark hair closing around her like a curtain. This surprised him a little, but when it became clear she wasn't going to move away any time soon, he lifted his hand and patted her awkwardly on the back. It had been ages since he'd held someone like this and it felt more than a little strange.

After some time, she mumbled something against his chest.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"He's an arse." She said, louder this time.

He laughed and she untangled herself from their almost-hug.

"I know he is," he shrugged, "But he's a nice arse. Right?"

She blushed and he laughed some more.

"Besides, he's got nice hair. No wonder you like him."

He received a punch in the arm.

"Ow!" Swatting her hand away he pretended to be in immense pain.

"And you're mean. The two of you fit perfectly."

Freya just huffed.

"So," he said, false pain forgotten, "How did this happen?"

"I'm not sure." She admitted. "Our paths crossed some time ago, when he came with the rest of Knights. There was just something about him that intrigued me."

She gave a sheepish grin, "I might have pursued him a little."

_Freya pursuing Gwaine?_

The thought made him snigger.

"Well," he shrugged, "I'm not really surprised. He always admired strong females."

_And he used to like Gwen_, mind-Arthur pointed out, but Merlin ignored him. He sure as hell wasn't going to let Freya know _that. _Instead he gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

"He's lucky to have found you, Freya."

She seemed to recover a little and pinched his elbow teasingly. "I guess what's been written about you is true. You certainly do possess wisdom and hindsight far beyond anyone else."

Her slightly mocking tone made him poke his tongue at her and she laughed.

"And let's not forget your impeccable manners."

He feigned puzzlement.

"Whatever do you mean?"

They shared a fond look and he felt how the news made warmth spread in his belly. He was really glad on their behalf. They both deserved happiness, especially Freya. He suspected being the Lady of the Lake had offered more than one lonely hour.

"So," he said after some time, "where are they? The knights, I mean. Are they down in the village with Arthur?"

"Actually…"

Something about the atmosphere changed.

Suddenly, something hard hit him in the back with the force of a tornado, and judging by the weight of it- it was a rather big something. Or _someone._ After landing headfirst on the forest-floor, nose crushed against a rather pointy root, he managed to twist his head around and glare maliciously at his assailant. Said culprit merely grinned at him and there were was laughter shining in brown eyes.

"Why so down in the dumps, Merlin? Aren't you happy to see me?"

He spat a dry leaf from his mouth.

"Hello, Gwaine."


	5. A Hymn of Strenght, Love and Betrayal

**A/N:** I am so, so sorry for the long wait. Exams still. Anyway, here it is. Have fun reading! The next chapter is currently being worked on and will be up much faster than this one! Reviews are much appreciated.

**Warnings:** None. Except a but of sappiness I suppose.

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to BBC, not me.

Now, on to the story!

* * *

Gwaine was pretty much the same.

The Knight, still looking exactly the way the warlock remembered him, was clad in the same garments he used to wear off duty in Camelot and had the same strong arms Merlin had envied many times before. His hair was still a mess and his teeth still shone like a row of pearls when he bared them in one of his infamous grins. He seemed strong and confident and his gestures, his posture and the way he moved was the same as before.

Only his eyes had changed. There was a tension in them that hadn't been there before. A gravity, sort of. As if death had taken some of the boyishness out of him and replaced it with something more grounded and serious. Yet, the cheerful bloke Merlin remembered still lingered and the years that had passed between them didn't seem to have affected their natural way of communicating with one another at all.

"You haven't aged a day!" Gwaine had exclaimed, when hoisting Merlin back up on his feet after his unpleasant encounter with the ground. "Although your ears seem smaller than I remember. Did they shrink?"

"No, but apparently your wit did," the warlock had retorted immediately. "Not that it was a lot of it to begin with."

At this, the dark haired knight laughed his hoarse deep-belly laugh and grabbed Merlin's face, cradling it in his palms.

"Jeez, Merlin, it's good to see you."

"And you, Gwaine. You too."

They had bumped foreheads, grinning at one another like idiots.

No, there was no mistaking it; they were both swimming with happiness and joy at meeting each other again, and their chemistry was as effortless as it had been back in Camelot.

In a way, the other man's presence was like a boost of adrenaline to his system and his spirit alone was enough to make Merlin feel at least a thousand years younger. In fact, the whole atmosphere did that to him and he had felt it since the first time he set his foot in Avalon. With the uttermost glee and relief, he registered he was beginning to feel more and more like the self he had once known.

"It's astonishing how fast this place takes its toll on you." He remarked at Freya, untangling himself from Gwaine, who seemed a little reluctant to let him go. "I mean," he said, patting Gwaine's shoulder, "I feel as though I am de-aging."

It was a strange thing to say, he realized that, but Freya seemed to understand what he was referring to and nodded.

"Yes, you are experiencing what most people do when they first arrive here."

"Oh?"

She smiled one of her rare, bright smiles and he was once more struck by the way she seemed to radiate certainty and wisdom. She was evidently the Lady of The Lake in every way and had approached her appointed task with great responsibility and enthusiasm. He could see why Gwaine was smitten.

"Avalon," she started, eyes shining, "does not only preserve people's magic. It also preserves their youth. Once you enter the Island, all the wonders of childhood can be experienced once more."

"Childhood?"

Freya looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, the Sidhe claims that all that enter this land are subjected to feel like children, as if they're born anew. They state that of Avalon, herself is forever a child, always heady for new experience. It is the nature of this Island to be impulsive and emotion-steered, just like that is the nature of magic."

He thought about her words and concluded that yes, magic was indeed an impulsive force, motivated by the emotions of the wielder. He'd seen it countless of times, how young souls inhabited by magic were too unstable, too unfamiliar with their own minds to control it. And he had seen how it had destroyed them.

For an instant his thoughts went to Morgana and for the first time since she had turned her back on Arthur and tried to steal away his Kingdom forcing bloodshed, he actually felt a little sorry for her. Morgana had been too young and far too lonely to carry the burden of her magic. (And it had undoubtedly been a burden at first.) She was Uther's ward and it hadn't exactly been a secret what the late King thought of sorcery. He would have condemned her, or even worse, executed her, had he found out.  
Morgana had _known_ that Uther, a man she must have loved, or at least cared for, would have had her burned at the stake for something that was out of her control. Merlin knew far too well, what kind of pain that must have accompanied such a knowledge. He could see how that alone would be enough to wake her hatred.

However, had she not been forced to hide who she really was, had she not been too afraid to seek advice- then maybe, maybe Morgana could have led a life not so different from Merlin's.  
After all, where would he have been without the efforts of his mum, Kilgarrah and Gaius? Gaius in particular had done everything to make sure Merlin didn't make choices that would cause him to lose track of his destiny. The old man had been there to slow Merlin down when he was being frantic and he had coaxed his head with a layer of ice every time it got too hot.

Who's to say that with the right guidance and care, Morgana couldn't have become something else entirely?

"I hardly feel like a child," he commented dryly, returning his attention to Freya, "but I understand what you mean. Everything feels… new in a way."

"Like a fresh start?" She asked, still smiling fondly.

"Yes. Kind of like that."

Gwaine, whom had silently listened to their conversation, was now beginning to grow restless. Merlin could tell by the way he kept rolling his shoulders and kicking his legs.

"Are we boring you?" He asked the Knight playfully. "We haven't even begun to catch up and you're already growing tired of my presence?"

Gwaine laughed. "Not the slightest, dear Merlin. I could listen to your rambling all day, seeing as I have the patience of an old oak." At this, Merlin raised a brow. "_However_, I do believe someone else is quite eager to see you. And if I were you I wouldn't keep him waiting much longer."

A shiver ran down Merlin's spine. That was the second time someone had said that today. Apparently, he was very much awaited. The thought filled him with tremendous joy and extreme anxiety at once.

"I see," was all he managed, "time to get going I guess."

"Right you are." Gwaine didn't seem to notice Merlin's inner turmoil. He simply slung an arm around his shoulder and offered Freya his other hand.

"Let's move then!" He said and Merlin had to fight his own legs for dominance. For some reason they had decided they wanted to go for a run.

As they started walking (he won the battle, obviously, they were but mindless pieces of flesh and bones), the Knight turned his head slightly and pressed his mouth against Merlin's temple, almost like a kiss. A thousand jolts went through the warlock's body and he had to will his breath under control. Not because of the proximity or the intimate gesture, but because of the words that were whispered in his ear, too low for Freya to hear.

"You have nothing to worry about, trust me."

So much for Gwaine not noticing.

IvVvVvVvI

The sun was still high and bright in the sky, but only specks of light illuminated their path as they walked deeper into the woods. Soothing shadow surrounded them and only the smell of pines and leaves and the soft rustling of their footsteps accompanied them.

That, and Gwaine's voice of course. If he had grown more serious in death, he at least hadn't lost is ability to chatter.

He was still holding Freya's hand and Merlin was walking to his left, busy both listening to the Knight and observing their surroundings at once. Avalon, even if it at the moment only offered him rocks and trees, was a place he intended to learn as much about as possible.

"It was almost like being asleep," Gwaine assured Merlin, when the warlock asked him how he had spent the past fifteen thousand years. "I can't remember all, but I recall bits and pieces- and people. I met a lot of people."

Merlin remembered Freya saying the same thing, and his chest constricted a little.

"Anyone in particular?" He prodded, eyes fixed on a particularly twisted tree straight ahead of them. It had white leaves that looked almost like skeleton-fingers. Was it dead perhaps?

"Well," Gwaine replied, voice serious. "All the people I've loved and cared for in short."

Merlin didn't look at him, but he could feel the other man's eyes on him.

"I remember snippets of conversations," the Knight continued, "but mostly we didn't talk that much. We simply were there, together. I didn't have any concept of time, but when I woke up, I recall feeling I had been out for decades."

They passed the skeletal tree and Merlin swept his finger over the ragged trunk. Not dead, warm.

"You know," the Knight said and Merlin turned to look at him, "it's strange how the little things come to matter once you've lost all."

Something passed between them, a powerful current of sorts. There was no sadness in Gwaine's eyes, but in their depths he could see something akin to sympathy. Merlin instantly knew he was one of the people Gwaine had met on his wanderings between life and death. The question slipped from his mouth before he could really think it through.

"How did it feel? Dying?"

If it surprised him, Gwaine did not show it and Merlin was thankful for that. He realized it was a question out of the ordinary, but he simply had to know. Death was still, despite all his encounters with it, a mystery to him and apart from Freya, Gwaine was the only person Merlin knew who had actually died and returned to the world of the living.

"The action itself was quite all right," his friend replied, voice seemingly unaffected, "the sensation itself was… it was almost like falling asleep after a hard day's work, but – "

Something the air shifted as Gwaine took a deep breath. His eyes glazed over and after a moment of silence he started moving his lips, as if he were about to say something of great difficulty. The warlock could sense his discomfort and he almost wanted to tell Gwaine that he didn't have to go there, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Curiosity got the best of him.

"But -?" He inquired softly and Gwaine smiled at his shyness. Some of the tenseness between them disappeared.

"The worst part was coming to terms with the end."

On their way through the forest, his old friend told him everything about how he and Percival had been roaming the woods after the battle and of how they had tried to kill Morgana, but failed.

"It was a stupid plan, really. But it was all we could do at that time."

He silently confessed to Merlin the way she had tortured him with the Nathair till he no longer remembered his own name and that he had died thinking he had failed them all; that he wasn't worthy of the knighthood that had been bestowed upon him.

"I was in a bad place back then. Figured all was lost and hopeless. I thought about Arthur, Gwen, Gaius… If just felt so wrong knowing they would probably suffer because I was too weak to keep my mouth shut."

Merlin's heart ached for his friend. "It must have been horrible," he all but whispered.

Gwaine shot him a strange look and again, the air between them felt charged, heavy. "It was. I imagine you understand that better than anyone."

Merlin had no reply to this, but Gwaine met his silence with a sympathetic smile. "You know, Merlin, out of all the people I wish I could've saved back then, it never occurred to me that you were the one in greatest need of saving. It must have been terribly lonely."

Merlin could merely stare at him for a moment, but as his words seeped in and he understood their meaning, he suddenly found himself drowning.

Years of pent up sorrow rushed to the surface and became a flood that crashed down his cheeks like a waterfall. Tears of anger, fear, sorrow and pain shoved their way through his chest, throat and eyes, until he was shaking with sobs, completely unable to stop it. He cried till there were no tears left, till his eyes were red and puffy and his whole face felt sticky with salt.

"I'm sorry," he managed to choke in between sobs, not sure what he was apologizing for, "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have…" He frantically tried to wipe away some of the tears, "It's not fair!" The comment was so childish it ought to have made him laugh, however there was no room for humor in his heart right now.

"It's fine, Merlin." Gwaine said simply, giving him a decent clap on the back. "It's an ended chapter."

He was right, of course, and Merlin wanted to tell him that it wasn't the story itself that broke him, not really. What tipped him over was the fact that he was no longer alone in his sorrow- no longer the only one left to deal with the loss of all he had once held dear. Merlin knew that Gwaine understood him, knew that the Knight could relate, because Gwaine too had lost everything that day- or at least he'd believed he had. If crying felt strange after all these years, being comforted and understood felt even stranger. Loneliness had forced apathy upon him and in order to survive his lonesome existence he had built himself a stronghold of solitude, but now, with all this love and friendship surrounding him, his walls came crumbling down.

That, more than anything made him fall apart at the seams.

Besides, he had heard the story of Gwaine's death before. Percival had told him what happened while they were returning to Camelot to aid Guinevere after the battle.

"He came to the lake," he all but hiccupped when his sobs had died down and he was trying to explain Gwaine that he'd already heard most of their story. "I was – he managed to convince me to go back."

The big knight had been the one to find Merlin at the shore of Avalon, clutching Arthur's body in the grass. He had given Merlin a cloak, probably his own, and the warlock had wrapped it around the dead King before sending him across the water. After the boat had disappeared into the fog, the two of them had traveled back to Camelot together on Percival's horse.

"Well, I was on the horse," he added when Gwaine raised an eyebrow at him. "It couldn't carry us both."

Gwaine chuckled.

It had been a silent ride on his part, seeing as he couldn't bring himself to talk about Arthur so soon. Percival didn't push him either. Instead, Merlin rode in silence while the other man told him about the death of Gwaine and about how he'd almost killed his stallion in the attempt to reach Avalon before Morgana. He had walked beside the horse and told Merlin all these things in that deep, yet strangely soft tone of his, and Merlin remembered thinking that if it hadn't been for Percival's voice, he would have collapsed off the horse and never returned to the world of the living.

"He must have been completely exhausted," Merlin murmured, "yet, he never complained."

"That's Perce for you," Gwaine answered, eyes wandering far away again, "always more concerned about others than himself."

"Yeah."

Later, much later, Merlin had realized that Percival never said anything when he used magic to move the boat. The realization had come as quite a shock and in a candlelit room in the castle he had shared his gratitude and stories with the knight.

"He said he'd suspected it all along," he told Gwaine, remembering the big Knight's words that night, "that I had powers beyond his understanding. But he never told anyone, because he feared it might hurt me."

Gwaine seemed a little puzzled at this, but nodded nonetheless, his fondness of the other Knight clearly evident on his face. "Well, he always was the silent type," he said, smiling.

"Indeed."

Merlin too had become very fond of Percival and had remained friends with him until he died of age, still bearing the sigil of Camelot on his cloak. He remembered what Freya had said earlier.

"Is he-?"

"Here?" Gwaine's lips parted in a bright, dazzling grin and with a flick of his hair, he confirmed that Percival too was waiting for them in the village. "But that's not all. Both Leon and Elyan are there too."

"Really?" Merlin felt as though his chest was about to explode. "And Lancelot?"

The silence that followed spoke for itself and Merlin stooped his head.

"Lancelot hasn't arrived yet," Gwaine answered solemnly, "and neither has Guinevere."

IvVvVvVvI

He supposed it wasn't that strange.

Gwen had already played her part in history, leading Camelot into its Golden Age after the death of Arthur. Besides, she didn't have magic and was therefore not guaranteed a place in Avalon after her passing.

Lancelot, on the other hand, should have been here. Not only was he one of Arthur's most valued knights, but Merlin had shipped him in a boat across the lake after his second death. He, like Freya and Arthur was meant to travel to the land beyond the lake. Unless…

Suddenly he understood.

"He doesn't belong here."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew they were true.

"He can't be here because… well…"

Freya raised an eyebrow at him and he fumbled with his thoughts, trying to find the right words.

"Lancelot," he began, not sure of how much he should reveal. "His heart never belonged to Camelot or Arthur…" It was becoming difficult not to say what was on his mind.

"Gwen."

Gwaine's words came as a surprise and Merlin whirled around to look at him. An unusual, wistful smile was playing in the corner of the Knight's mouth and his eyes twinkled.

"Don't look so surprised, Merlin. We all know that his heart belonged to Guinevere and not Arthur, ever." He finished, still smiling that odd smile of his.

Merlin had no idea Gwaine knew about the two of them- at least not to the extent he did. After all, the knight had died (his gut curled at the thought) long before the Queen and hadn't heard her last word. Still, Gwaine was right. Without Gwen, Lancelot had no need for an afterlife. He would have been a shadow of his former self had he returned to a world where his beloved Guinevere was no longer.

He knew why Lancelot had sacrificed his life for Arthur. Stepping through the veil had been nothing compared to losing what made his life worth living. To see her every day, without being able to be with her- to know that she shared another man's bed and love. Merlin couldn't blame him for wanting to escape that, especially after he, himself, had found out just what it meant to face the decades alone.

Lancelot had made his choice, just like Guinevere had made hers all those lifetimes ago.

Merlin knew that choice had given Gwen happiness. She had thrived in Arthur's company and being his Queen had shaped her into becoming the person she had been also after he had passed. She'd gone from being a shy and humble servant to become a strong, secure and warm-hearted regent. What had previously been a small candle had flickered and grown until it was a bonfire, fierce enough to give light and warmth to an entire kingdom. She'd fulfilled her role in history and through that, helped and comforted thousands of people, leading them through the Golden Age of Camelot.

However, when Merlin thought of the Guinevere he had met when he'd first set his foot in Camelot, he couldn't help but think that _that_ girl, Gwen - the girl who was yet no monarch, no flaming torch for the people to follow, and whom had not yet been introduced to the man behind the uptight mask of Prince Arthur- she would have been happier marrying Lancelot. The core of what was _Gwen_ didn't match Arthur's, not really.

Even if Guinevere did love Arthur – and Merlin knew she did – her love for Lancelot was of a different nature entirely. It wasn't born from friendship or built on mutual agreement about the world. They were meant for one another and Merlin would swear to that, by all the clichés in the world. He had seen it the first time they met, the incident still etched upon his memory. They fit like a puzzle- pulling and pushing in all the right places, clicking together like hinges on a door.

And because of that, they were both excluded from Avalon.

His heart ached for the both of them, but especially for Gwen. Was she to blame for loving two men at once? Was her sin of a nature that could not be forgiven? Did her "betrayal" to the King take away her possibilities of an afterlife with the man she was destined to be with?

"She's not to blame," Gwaine pressed on, reading Merlin's thoughts. "One cannot control matters of the heart."

Freya sent him a small smile and Merlin's heart swelled.

"The only mistake she made was getting to know Arthur," Gwaine continued, flicking his hair out of his eyes, "and one cannot help loving him once one sees what's on the inside."

At this, Merlin could only nod helplessly. "No," he agreed, stomach dropping a little, "but I often wondered if she'd be happier if she'd…" He trailed off, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"If she'd chosen Lancelot instead?" Gwaine shrugged. "Perhaps. But-"

"- She made her choice." Freya cut in, unknowingly echoing Merlin's earlier thoughts. "Guinevere chose Arthur, and she stayed with him." Her eyes found Merlin's and for a moment he felt as though she could see straight through him. "And even if she might have regretted that choice later on, it was too late to change anything. Sometimes," her gaze softened, "we only get one chance to make things right."

"And sometimes, that chance comes around once more." He finished, lowering his eyes to the ground.

"I'm sure they are happy together somewhere." Gwaine said quietly and Merlin could only nod.

"Yeah."

He would not cry for them.

Even if their story was one of tragic content, it did have a happy ending. Maybe not for them, but for the millions of people who had heard it and through that started to truly appreciate love and all that comes with it.

_As long as I live, my feelings for you will never fade._

IvVvVvVvI

Soon they moved over to a more cheerful l topic, as Gwaine revealed that it had been quite a struggle to come find them.

He had taken a field trip earlier that day, supposedly under the excuse that he had to answer nature's call, although the real reason was that he was going to look for any sings of Merlin and Freya.

At his puzzled expression, the dark haired knight explained that a certain hotheaded King had been furious when he was told he couldn't come with Freya to fetch Merlin, but had to remain in the village due to lack of strength. Apparently, the wound given to him by Mordred's enchanted blade all those years ago had bothered him when he first woke up.

"I believe I put on a pretty convincing show," Gwaine said, chuckling, "but I'm sure he didn't believe me one bit."

"Convincing him can't have been easy." Merlin smiled, fully aware of how Arthur must have looked when Gwaine served him the lie. "He's always been a little suspicious, though never at the _right _things."

"He nearly threw a fit." Gwaine rolled his eyes. "That wind earlier-"

"Was him." Merlin and Freya shared a look. "Yeah, we felt it."

Merlin subconsciously patted his scarf, which was now safely tucked in his pocket.

"At least there's nothing wrong with his spirit," he said dryly.

This evoked laughter from Gwaine. "Was there ever? No, he'll be fine. Gaius reckons he'll be back in his old shape in no time."

What.

The.

"_Gaius?!" _

Gwaine's smile could have outshined the sun. "I didn't tell you? He's here too. He and Alice are working on patching him up as we speak."

"O, God. How did that happen?"

"Well, long story short…"

It was never a long story to begin with, but Gwaine sure made it one.

IVvVvVvVI

Merlin was thrilled to hear that Gaius was in Avalon and he was shocked when Gwaine told him that the physician no longer bore the appearance of an old man, but had come back looking at least forty years younger than he had been at his death.

"Wait till you see him, Merlin. He's a new person, so _young_!" This was of course, hard for the warlock to imagine, but it gave fuel to the idea that Avalon could be compared to Christianity's Heaven. Besides, it seemed only natural after all.

Gwaine also told him that Gaius had gone to Avalon right after his death in Camelot and had been waiting for Arthur's return for as long as he had. Even though it surprised him a little, he reckoned he shouldn't really be overwhelmed, seeing as Gaius did have magic in the first place and Avalon was, after all, a place for those who wielded it.

"Our King," Gwaine drawled, instantly catching Merlin's attention once more, "is currently taking most of his anger out on Gaius. You owe him one."

Merlin barely managed a snort.

"He keeps fuzzing about him being too slow to brew a potion or accusing him of treating him like a toddler. If it hadn't been for Alice I don't think they would have lasted long in the same room." He grinned and Freya nodded in agreement.

"Yes," she said, "Gaius certainly has a temper of his own, but she keeps them both a little grounded. Well, Gaius at least."

Nothing warmed Merlin's heart more than knowing Gaius and Alice was finally reunited and the mere thought of seeing the old man again sent his happiness to a whole new level, but he felt a slight twinge in his gut at Gwaine's word nonetheless. He knew that both Gaius and Alice were strong healers and that they would provide Arthur with the best of care. However, the truth was that Merlin wasn't even sure it would make a difference if Arthur recovered his full strength or not.

He thought of Mim and of the approaching dangers- and fear gripped at his throat as he tried to imagine the battle that awaited them. Everything was different now and destiny probably didn't mean for Arthur to defeat the evils of the modern world with a piece of metal and the muscles in his arm. No, it had to be something else. If only he could figure out what.

Gwaine too seemed to ponder this and when Merlin shared his worries with his friend, a deep crease appeared on the Knight's forehead and an unusual look of disturbance settled on his face.

"As much as I always admired his abilities in combat, I can't understand how they'll be of use to him if he's fighting one of those new, clear bombs." He said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Nuclear," Merlin corrected.

"What?"

"It's called a nuclear-bomb. It's an explosive device that derives its destructive force from nuclear reactions, either fission or a combination of fission an-"

Something in Gwaine's eyes had fallen asleep.

"You know what, never mind." He commented dryly and Freya sniggered. "It doesn't matter right now."

It didn't.

He could explain it later, to everyone. He suspected Gaius in particular would love to hear about modern science. The thought brought a smile to his face and took some of the sting out of his previous ones. He'd have time to find out what Arthur's destiny entailed later. Right now, he just wanted to take a moment to enjoy all of this; enjoy the company of long lost and thoroughly missed friends.

Overcome by a sudden need to do just this, he made a move to stand before Freya and Gwaine on the path, halting them. They both looked a little dumbfounded, but before either one of them could make a comment of sorts, he spread his arms and walked straight into them.

There, on the winding, sun specked path, he was hugging them both.

Freya's arm instantly sneaked around his middle and Gwaine's hand came up to tousle his hair. This made Merlin smile, and fitting his face into the gap between their shoulders, he squeezed their necks simultaneously and took a deep breath.

"This is the only thing that matters."

If he had learned one thing in life it was that nothing should be left unsaid. He had no intentions of making the same mistake twice.


	6. Forget-me-not

**Disclaimer:** BBC owns them, not me. I don't mean to hurt anyone! T.T

**Warnings:** None. We haven't gotten there yet, gents!

**A/N:** Next chappie up! I have to write this out of my system. The angst WILL stop! I promise!

* * *

Of course, Merlin also had to tell his friend all about the legends of Camelot, Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. He told him how the values presented by King Arthur and later Queen Guinevere, came to be the very foundation of British democracy and how the Round Table to this day was a symbol of equality and justice. Gwaine laughed loudly when Merlin mentioned the way he, himself, was depicted in the stories, but his laughter died abruptly when the warlock showed himself in Dragoon's form for a second.

"Hold on for just one moment! You mean to say _you _were the one to knock us out in the woods that time?!"

Merlin couldn't help but smirk at his baffled expression. It reminded him of a stranded fish. A little devil ran through him.

"Yeeees," he answered in his best Dragoon-voice and Gwaine's eye twitched a little, "Yes, Sir Knight, that might have been me."

He had half a mind to continue, but Gwaine looked as though he was about to either faint or draw swords, so he decided against it and turned himself back. He didn't want to have the other man's loss of sanity on his record. The sanity still left in him that was.

Apart from his theatrical and –if Merlin had a say in it – exaggerated reaction to the Dragoon-thing, Gwaine didn't seem to mind the fact that the warlock had been hiding the truth about his magic from him. And more important, he didn't seem repulsed by it either.

Apparently, Gaius had been the one to tell him about Merlin's powers when he was tending to the knight's health after he'd returned. (Gwaine too had been bothered by the wounds the Nathair caused before he died.) Merlin imagined waking up in Avalon itself would be enough to make anyone go slightly mental, but even so he felt the need to confront Gwaine about his reactions to the "Merlin-has-magic-issue".

When he tentatively and with his heart in his throat asked Gwaine if he'd felt cheated, the Knight simply answered that he had always considered Merlin to be a man with many hidden talents. Of course, it hadn't crossed his mind that said talents involved magic, but once he had found out he'd simply decided that as long as he could still kick Merlin's arse in man-to-man combat, he didn't care what other tricks Merlin had up his sleeve.

"I'm still stronger than you," he jested, "and everyone knows a man is not to be judged by his talents, but by his abilities to swing a sword! One blow of this beauty," he gestured to the sword at his side, "and you'd be squirming on the ground like a helpless pup, magic or no magic."

Merlin laughed at his antics.

"A blow from that little butter knife? I highly doubt it."

"One blow," Gwaine patted the hilt of said 'beauty', "that's all it takes."

Merlin huffed, and then an overwhelming nostalgia hit him.

"I could take you apart with less than that," he replied, his heart beating a little heavier in his chest. The words felt foreign on his tongue, as if they were uttered to the wrong person, and Merlin had to conclude that yes, they were.

Gwaine only shrugged, unaware of course, of the looming presence of the past. "Probably. After all, you have done it once before." His expression changed, "but you wouldn't do that to your old pal, Gwaine, now would you?" He batted his lashes in a way that was nothing short of obscene.

"Don't be so sure." Merlin replied in a mock tone. "The only reason I didn't do so before was because I was afraid I'd get my head chopped off as a result."

Freya made a giggling noise.

"And wouldn't that have been a shame-" Gwaine's voice was as dry as the Sahara, "All that wonderful wit wasted on nothing."

"Maybe I could have transferred some to you. That way it wouldn't go to waste, but to a good cause." Merlin poked his tongue at him and Gwaine sputtered an indignant huff. For an instant he looked as though he was about to make a retort, but then he thought the better of it and his expression turned into one of curiosity.

Merlin dreaded that look. It meant he was up for a serious questionnaire. He tried to look to Freya for an escape, but she seemed to be busy glancing ahead. He wondered how far it was left.

"So, apart from being able to make a complete mess out of your friends with less than a blow…" Gwaine started and confirmed Merlin's fears. "What is it that you _can_ do? How does this thing of yours work?"

Merlin nearly rolled his eyes. Leave it to Gwaine to refer to his magic as a "thing of his".

"I mean, I know you can knock people out and stuff," he narrowed his eyes dangerously as if to say 'Don't even try' before continuing, "but is there a, uh.. a limit to your abilities or…? Can you do everything?"

Obviously not everything, Merlin thought, falling into an instant brood. If he had been able to do everything, none of them would have been here now. They would have sorted it all out the first time around.

"Well…"

_O, Bugger it._

Hesitation gone, the warlock demonstrated how he by a simple look of concentration was able to transform a knotty branch into a beautiful flower, but instead of gaping or stepping away, Gwaine immediately snatched the flower from Merlin's hand and sniffed it before placing it behind Freya's ear. It fit her perfectly.

"Now _that _would come in handy!" He exclaimed, grinning, and Freya rolled her eyes at him, adjusting the flower so it wouldn't fall to the ground.

"It's nothing really." Merlin mumbled. And it was nothing. If Gwaine had known what he could _really_ do…

He made a mental note to go slowly on his friends. After all, he didn't want them to think he was a different person simply because he could do great things. Granted, Gwaine hadn't reacted with withdrawal at his demonstrations today, but if he were to see Merlin destroy a field of forest with a simple flick of his wrist, he imagined the pipe would make a different sound.

"What's it like?" Gwaine asked suddenly, flower forgotten.

"What?"

"I mean, what does it feel like?"

"Oh." The warlock bit his lip. "Uh," he replied, all of a sudden feeling a little shy.

Even though Gwaine was seemingly fine with it, talking openly about what had been a secret for so long felt… weird. Back in Camelot only Gaius and Lancelot had known about him, and neither of them had ever treated him any different because of his abilities. They had simply accepted it, Lancelot even unbothered by the fact that Merlin had been hiding it from him.

But then there was Arthur.

In the flickering, orange light of the fire he had looked so lost and vulnerable, shocked and frightened. Like the ground had been pulled away from underneath his feet. And later, as Merlin kept showing him more of the things he could do, Arthur had gazed at him through eyes unknown to Merlin; eyes that spoke of awe, but also anger, hurt, confusion.

Something had changed in their relationship during that last journey, and even though Arthur did acknowledge him in the end, there was no way around the fact that Merlin had overstepped some kind of line by revealing his magic. Back then though, his primary concern had been the wound in the King's side and his slowly fading heartbeats. A shattered trust had seemed unimportant compared to the fact that his best friend was dying.

Not wanting to think about that, in the middle of everything, he tried to find the right words to describe his magic to Gwaine. It would not do well to dwell in the realms of the past. Not now, when he had the chance to do things over and establish trust once more by being open and honest about his abilities. He would do this for Gwaine, and he would make sure the Knight did not feel like he was holding something back.

"It's like…" He started, unsure of how to proceed. He didn't really know how to communicate it to someone who didn't have magic. It was a part of him simply, and had been since the day he entered this world. Even as a child, he hadn't questioned it. It was as familiar to him as his arms, or his love for chicken.

"It's an extension of my limbs. Sort of."

Gwaine nodded, but Merlin could see he was confused.

"Here," he said, reaching down to draw Gwaine's sword from its scabbard.

"Let me show you."

He placed the gleaming metal-shaft in the other man's hand and on instinct, the knight's fingers curled around it. Merlin mimicked the movement.

"You see? Your sword is part of you. Your hand knows it and so does your body. I bet you can't even tell where you end and it begins."

Gwaine gave the sword an experimental swing.

"Hm," he said, "I think I know what you-"

He didn't as much as flinch when Merlin's eyes flashed gold and a huge log lifted from the mossy ground and shot straight towards him. In one swift movement he raised his sword and split the log in two, causing wooden splinters to rain down around him. The two halves fell before their feet with identical thumps and Gwaine's eyes met his, an awed smile playing on his lips.

"I definitely understand what you mean." He sheeted the sword again. "It feels as natural as breathing."

Then his smile changed into a smirk. "Or drinking mead."

Merlin laughed.

"Sod off."

IvVvVvVvI

After walking for about half an hour, Freya told them him they were nearing the village and Merlin's heart sped up.

He didn't know what to do with his hands. They kept repeating a strange little ritual of jumping around at his sides, fists clenching an unclenching. His stomach felt like a pit of snakes and he was even a little nauseous.

_This is it. Not much further to go now._

He realized he probably didn't have any reason at all to be worried, but a part of him still was. Worried that he wasn't going to handle seeing Arthur again, worried that Arthur wasn't what he remembered, worried that he was going to say or do something stupid- like explode, maybe, but most of all he worried that his presence wouldn't make a difference. That he, Merlin or Emrys, as they called him wouldn't be able to assist Arthur in whatever mission he was facing. Over all it was a highly unpleasant feeling.

In order not to have a panic attack he focused on his own breathing and the path before him and despite his shaking legs he was able to maintain a rather stoic stride. He wasn't going let irrationality get the better of him. Not now, when he was so close to fulfilling his destiny.

"So, just out of curiosity," Gwaine nudged him in the shoulder and he jumped a little, stirred by the interruption.

"What have you been up to all these years?"

The question was a hard one, for Merlin was unsure of how much he wanted to reveal about his lonesome existence, even to a friend as good-natured and understanding as Gwaine. Of course, there were things he desperately wanted and needed to talk about. Things he would love to discuss and get off his chest, or simply just tell someone, anyone. It had been decades since he'd had a decent conversation about his past. This because talking to people had a tendency to create relationships and he hadn't felt the need for one of those in a long time. Yet now, reunited with people knew and already had this sort of connection with, the need for proper communication was nearly overwhelming.

He would love to tell Gwaine and Freya about old Dayne, about Wart and his beautiful bride, about Gail, the sheep and his meeting with other sorcerers. He wanted, no _needed_, them to know that he had found friends and allies in his wake, but he was afraid that he'd eventually have to mention Jenny – Mim – and he was not ready for that.

Besides, he could not bestow neither on Gwaine, nor Freya, the whole package. He didn't want them to know how he had let time, wars and death beat him down, or how he had slowly begun to fade away into apathy. He would do anything to shield them from that knowledge, both because he was a little ashamed of it and because he couldn't imagine what good it would do them to hear it. Gwaine already seemed to understand the bigger part of it and Merlin didn't want the Knight to feel sorry for him more than he already did.

He wished he could say that everything that had happened to him had made him a stronger and wiser person, but he feared it wasn't all that simple. He _had _gained wisdom, but time had also weakened his resolve and his beliefs. In short, it had created a huge split in his personality.

He was a man straddling two horses at once, one of them being his natural naivety and zest for life, the other a crushing determinism born from years of abysmal grief. In truth, Merlin was unsure of just who he was now- and admitting that, admitting that this had happened and _how_, was something he was reluctant, if not completely horrified of explaining.

Besides, all he could think of at this point was Arthur. He realized he should feel guilty for not feeling like seeing Gwaine and Freya again was enough, and that he should have been happy just being reunited with them. It was more he could have ever asked for, and still… still he wasn't completely satisfied. Somewhere in the depths of his stomach; in the deepest, darkest pit of his belly, he knew that the real reason he was here, the ultimate desire of his heart was to see the King just one more time.

The reason he couldn't speak his mind or open up completely to Gwaine and Freya was that he, Merlin, was deathly afraid even after coming here, that somehow he would be cheated this time around as well. What if Avalon couldn't offer Merlin the thing he needed the most? What if it was all a shot in the dark? What if he wasn't going to see Arthur after all? What if..?

Eventually, he settled with answering that he had been traveling. A lot.  
(Which was, to his defense true; he had been roaming the world through the ages.)

He also refrained from mentioning all the hours spent sitting huddled by the lakeshore waiting for any sign of Arthur's return. Somehow it felt a little too personal, not to mention pathetic.

"So, I guess you can say I know the world," he finished, forcing a smile. "At least for now."

"Do you need sleep?"

The question took Merlin aback and he barely managed to contain his laughter. Out of all the things Gwaine could have asked… he wanted to know about Merlin's sleeping habits?! For a moment, he just stared at his friend.

"_What?"_

Gwaine pulled a crooked grin and actually had the nerve to look a bit embarrassed, "I was bound to ask! I mean, clearly, you can't… you know, die. (The way he said it only fueled Merlin's laughter, like the word "die" was something icky Gwaine wanted to squish under the sole of his boot.) But you must need sleep like the rest of us! Or..?"

The warlock swallowed back a fit of giggles. "Uh… I suppose so. Yes, I sleep."

"Well then," Gwaine seemed to consider his answer before coming to a conclusion. "Good for you."

Merlin, still mouth-dangling with amusement, could only shake his head.

"Anything else you want to ask?"

He regretted the question immediately, as Gwaine started pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes narrowing in concentration, as if he was about to ask _real_ sets of question – the kind of questions Merlin wasn't ready to answer – but before he was able to open his mouth, he was interrupted by Freya. She had walked ahead of them and was now standing about twenty feet away, blocking the sun from her eyes with her hands, smiling and pointing at something he couldn't make out behind the trees.

"We're here!"

IvVvVvVvI

The village was beautiful, and stepping into the clearing where it lay was like stumbling upon a hidden forest-paradise.

The houses seemed to be carved from the trees and fit the natural shapes of the landscape; like they had somehow grown out of it. He reckoned it must be at least a couple hundred of them scattered among the trees, some consisting of several stories where twisted branches served as stairwells between the porches. They were small, but looked comfortable enough and they all had beautiful little details such as glass ornaments on the porches and colorful designs on the doors. He wondered briefly if they had been made using magic.

In the middle of the clearing there was a stone circle that reminded him of the Great Stones of Nemeton, only these were smaller and each stone had veins of marble running down their length. There were also words written on them, but the language in which they were written was unfamiliar to him. Around the circle, the ground was covered in flowers, and not just any flower.

The whole clearing swarmed with forget-me-nots.

They covered the grass as far as his eyes could see and the more he looked, the more they increased in numbers. It was like looking at the stars from the North Pole. (Which he had done more than once!) They even sported a slightly different color than those back 'home'; these were brighter and more radiant, as if they were freshly painted on.

Merlin felt his chest constrict at the sight of them.

"Go on," Freya said behind him, noticing his stare, "they won't bite."

She was right. They did not bite; but as they stepped out in the open, something peculiar happened. The flowers, which on first glance had simply stood there, seemed to give a deep, collective sigh, and their sky-colored petals opened all at once. Dumbstruck, the warlock took a few more steps and when he came close to the first ones, they stretched towards him like tiny hands reaching for an object. Full of awe, he let them brush his feet, and when he had passed, they retreated to their original positions, sighed once more and wrapped their leaves around themselves.

To his left, Gwaine made a strange whistling tune, as if he something had just dawned on him.

"So that's why…"

Merlin was about to ask him what's why, when they were interrupted by a loud yell that made his head snap back up.

"Emrys!"

On the porch one of the houses closest to the clearing, stood a woman and she was pointing at him, her head turned towards a man who was emerging from the door behind her. He couldn't make out her features, but she was unknown to him, that much he could tell. He, however, did not seem unknown to her, judging by the way she was staring at him. He quickly abandoned any thoughts he might have had about the forget-me-nots.

"It's Emrys!" The woman yelled again, louder this time. The man put a hand on her shoulder, perhaps to quiet her, but her outburst seemed to have served its purpose, for suddenly the two of them weren't the only new faces he could see.

It was like poking an anthill with a stick.

Suddenly the whole village came to life around him!

From everywhere figures emerged; some from inside the houses, others from parts of the village he had yet to see, and some even from behind him. How had he not noticed them earlier? His head must have been another place entirely.

Before long, the clearing was crowded with people and they just kept coming. Soon they had formed an almost full circle around them.

There had to be at least a hundred; males, females, children even, but no elderly people. A part of him knew the children were there because they had died young- some no doubt under the reign of Uther Pendragon- but he couldn't really find it in his heart to pity them, seeing as they were all _staring _at him. Not only the children, everyone.

Some of them looked worried, almost frightful, while others were smiling, hope blossoming in their eyes. He could hear them whisper name to one another, mumbling things like 'Emrys!', 'he has come' and 'is that really him?'

He felt like he was stark naked in the opera.

One; He hadn't received this much attention since he was awarded the position of Court Sorcerer under Gwen's reign. (Back then he had been too overwhelmed by the loss of Arthur to take it all in and hadn't really cared about the mass of people in the Throne Room; he'd barely even registered it when Leon wrapped him in a blue cloak to mark his position.) Now, on the other hand, he was fully aware of the number of eyes glued to him and it was a foreign feeling after all his years in solitude.

Two; All these people were strangers!

Before that wouldn't have been a problem at all, but now..?

It was beginning to dawn on him now. How much he had changed through all of it. The old Merlin (or rather the young one) would have been interested in each and every one of them. How he would probably have lost sight of his goal just to find out more about them and how he would have been ecstatic to find so many fellow sorcerers in one place. He used to be a curious and outgoing lad with an unquenchable thirst for life and now? Beginning to feel a little nervous, he turned to Freya, silently asking her what to do next, but before she was able to answer, Gwaine beat her to it.

"All right!" he bellowed, stepping in front of Merlin, shielding him from the hungry eyes. "That's quite enough oogling for today."

Someone in the crowd snorted.

"What?" Gwaine spread his arms wide, "You haven't seen a warlock before? And here I thought you all had magic."

Freya shook her head and chuckled and Merlin fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Sir, Gwaine."

A man stepped forward and Merlin inwardly paled at the sight of him. He was built like a bear, with a huge belly and hands that were the size of small boulders. His hair was black as a raven's wings and his beard was wild and curly, braided with rings of gold and silver and the warlock reckoned he had to be half giant. No normal human could become that big! He would have looked absolutely terrifying, hadn't it been for his eyes. They were the color of the sea, and warm.

"We just want to know if it is really, Emrys." He said, eyes never leaving Gwaine.

"And why wouldn't he be?"

The man made a humming sound and a young man, no more than a teenager, behind him whispered something inaudible in his ear. He nodded briefly to the informer before turning to Gwaine again.

"Well, to be honest, we thought he'd look-"

"More powerful? Older?" Gwaine offered and the man nodded, face reddening slightly from embarrassment. It was a strange sight, really.

"Well," the warlock thought he heard a hint of mirth in Gwaine's voice. "I know he doesn't look the part," he turned his head and winked at Merlin, "but I can assure you all it is him. This guy singlehandedly took out an army of Saxons and a dragon back in the days, but I'm sure you've all heard about that, right? Now without further ado, we would like to see the-"

"- Sir Gwaine," the man crossed his arms over his chest, muscles flexing and for the first time, Merlin thought he saw a flicker of a warning in his gaze. "As much as we value your word, it would not be wise to present him to the King unless we are absolutely certain it is Emrys."

"It is, Emrys." Freya's voice was smooth as silk as she stepped out in the clearing and all eyes turned to her as she walked up to the stoic man. Standing before him she looked almost like a little girl. Merlin noticed how the man flinched a little when they came face to face and for an insane moment he wondered if Freya was going to slap him. Instead, she lifted his arm and placed a soft hand on his cheek.

"Rhagonar," she said, stroking his beard in a motherly way that would have seemed absolutely ridiculous, hadn't it been for the fact that it was so _Freya_, "she was defeated, by the lake this morning, thanks to you all of you. I was there. If you cannot trust the King's Knight, then at least trust me."

"You can't defeat her. None of us can." 'Rhagonar' grumbled and Merlin realized they were talking about Mim. His heart dropped. Did all of these people know and loathe her?

"She'll come back." The giant went on, "you know she will. The Sidhe-"

"I know what they say, Rhagonar." Freya said, a hint of sadness straining her voice. "She will come back, but not today." She gestured at Merlin who tried to smile faintly at the bearded giant, "Emrys has come at last and the Once and Future King has returned to us. Today is a day for celebration."

"It is indeed." Another voice rang out from the crowd and dozens of head, including Merlin's own turned to find the source.

A lone figure stepped forth.

He was wearing a heavy cloak and in his right hand was a wooden staff, carved to resemble a torch. As he maneuvered his way through the rows of people surrounding him, Merlin felt the little hairs on his back rise and a glowing ball of anticipation formed in his belly. Rhagonar and Freya stepped aside as the man came up to them, but before he went on he turned and murmured something to the both of them. Freya just smiled and nodded, eyes ablaze, while Rhagonar's shoulder slumped at his words and he seemed noticeably relieved.

"It is Emrys!" The bearded giant said loudly and a collective sound of thrill rippled through the crowd. He thought he heard someone mutter 'finally!' and 'I knew it was him!', but he was too concerned with the newcomer to actually listen.

Rhagonar gave him a court nod and an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Emrys. You must forgive our hostility. One can't be too cautious these days."

"Sure," he replied absentmindedly.

All his attention was focused on the cloaked man before him, whom had now resumed his pace, and his heart skipped more than a few beats as the 'stranger' came at him. He managed to register a mop of coppery hair and a warm smile inside the hood, but no more, as he was brutally pulled into a hug that knocked the air out of him. Long, lean hands cupped his neck and slight stubble was rasping against his cheek. After squeezing him thoroughly, the man loosened his hold and took Merlin's face in his hands. When their foreheads bumped together, the warlock was left face to face with a slightly asymmetric set of eyebrows and a pair of deep blue eyes

His heart nearly stopped.

"Gaius!"

He was met with a strangely young, but familiar laughter.

"My dear, dear, Merlin! Welcome to Avalon!"

* * *

**A/N:** The next chapter is under way! It won't be too long I hope. Please review, it will make my day!


	7. Reunion

**Disclaimer:** BBC still owns them.

**Warnings:** FEELS.

**A/N:** Yep, it's already here, like I said. I hope it will satisfy some folks! Oh, and also, this seems to be a long one. Can't help it. The story writes itself and I'm just a helpless peasant.

* * *

_Oh my God._

Gwaine certainly hadn't been exaggerating.

Was this man Gaius, _his Gaius?_

He was tall and strong, with broad shoulders and flawless skin- and although he appeared at least ten or twenty years older than Merlin himself did at the moment, there was not a wrinkle was in sight. He had a slight tan and his teeth were white as pearls and glimmered in the sunlight. He was in short very handsome and there was nothing left of the old and crooked man Merlin remembered from his days back in Camelot.

A part of him couldn't grasp it. Could this really be the same Gaius he had known all those years ago? Did he have the same dry humor and the same kind heart? Did he have the power to make anyone, even Uther, flinch with a raise of his brow? Was he as stubborn and smart as the man Merlin once knew? A billion questions formed in the warlock's mind, but when he looked into this young man's eyes, he found the answer to them all. They hadn't changed at all.

It seemed he had some liquid left in his body after all.

"Oh my God, Gaius!" He all but yelled and threw himself around the man's neck once more.

The physician patted his back and ran a strong hand through his hair and Merlin was reminded of a bygone era and a room that used to smell of dust, incense and herbs.

"It's so good to see you," he pressed, willing back the tears, "you have no idea…" He trailed off and took a step back, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. When he reached out and grabbed both Gaius' hands in his, he couldn't help but noticing the fact that his palms were soft.

"I think I do," his old mentor replied, equally touched. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time."

"Me too."

A look of understanding and sympathy flittered across Gaius' face and Merlin could see that he _did know._ Not that he was surprised. Apart from Arthur, no one had ever known Merlin as well as Gaius, whom had been much more than just a mentor and friend. Gaius was the father Merlin had never known until he met Balinor, and even after that, the physician was still much more of a father to him than the dragon lord could ever be. Being reunited with him felt like retrieving a part of his soul that had been missing.

And to think that Gaius had been waiting for as long as he had…

Merlin clearly remembered the day Gaius passed away. It had been a cold December morning, after a long night where Merlin had been sitting by the physician's bed, wetting his forehead with a warm cloth. The old man, who by then had turned nine-and-eighty had fallen ill earlier in the autumn and he had never fully recovered, regardless of Merlin's administrations and care. He had tried everything in his powers to heal his mentor, but somehow the thing that plagued him would not be driven from his system.

That morning, when the pale light from the outside world was seeping through the windows, bathing the physician's chamber in a cold sheen, Gaius had shivered violently in his bed, but when Merlin had attempted to light a fire the physician had stopped him with a wave of his hand.

"_There's no need for that now, Merlin."_

"_But you're cold, I ought to-"_

"_You ought to go out and face the new day. Gwen needs you today as always, and the Kingdom as a whole relies on you. There is nothing you can do for me now, son. It's my time simply, and even if you are the greatest sorcerer the world has ever known, not even you can conquer death."_

_Tears began streaming down the warlock's face. "I don't think I can bear to lose you."_

_At this, the old man peered up at him from under heavy lids and a wry, almost sad smile grazed his wrinkled features. "I'm not worried, Merlin. I know how strong you are. Besides, the world never ends with a life. It simply goes on. You of all people should know that."_

"_But that was different!" He tried, shaking with sobs now._

"_Yes," a bony hand reached for his and he grasped it, holding on for dear life, "that was different. You lost everything that mattered once. No – don't protest. I know what you went through back then and this will be different from that. I never was your destiny, my boy, I was simply an element in it."_

_Merlin wanted to shake him. "No! You're-"_

"_- I'm dying. That's what I am. And you, you are going to face whatever comes after that with the same courage you showed after the death of Arthur." A small tear formed in the crook of the old man's eye, but the liquid never reached his skin before it evaporated. "You shan't take my death upon you, Merlin. It's my time now, simple as that. Your destiny is yet to be fulfilled, and it doesn't contain me, but Arthur." He drew a ragged breath. "You must remain strong for him. Do not let yourself decay."_

How he had managed not to do _that_.

"_A day will come, when you may have lost all you once knew, but after that day you need to go on. And you need to find a way to do that. Can you promise me that you will?"_

_He knew he couldn't, but he nodded nonetheless. "I promise."_

"_Good." The old man actually looked satisfied. "Now, if you don't mind I would ask you to get in here and share the heat. My bones are rattling." _

_He scooted over with a groan and with strength Merlin didn't know he had, he lifted the covers, motioning for Merlin to get under them. The warlock, still weeping silently, did as he was bid and curled up behind his mentor, drew the covers over them both and slid one arm across his torso. Like that, they lay in silence for a few hours, and just as Merlin thought the physician had drifted off to sleep, he stirred a little before whispering silently; _

"_Farewell, Merlin."_

IvVvVvVvI

"So," the physician said after some time, clearly coming back from a memory much like Merlin's own. "What do you think?" He was gesturing at his own features and looked so smug for an instant that Merlin could only laugh a breathy laugh and raise a brow at him.

"You certainly look different." He answered, full of mirth while he tried his best to lace his face with seriousness. "But, it's going to take a lot more than a little makeover to impress me."

This of course, was not true. He was in awe. Somehow, seeing Gaius like that was weirder than seeing his friends alive again after millennia in the earth. Possibly, he thought, because he had always thought Gaius to be the only person actually older than himself. Now, he felt as though they were the same age- and it was oh so strange. It seemed the universe still had some powerful cards up its sleeve.

"Witty as always." Gaius' eyes were shining and he gave Merlin's ear a playful tug. "You, yourself haven't changed a day."

Merlin did his best to smile back, but his smile died somewhere on the way to his lips. There was no truth in Gaius' words. He had changed, and very much so. Again, the physician seemed to be able to read his mind, for he let go of his ear and placed his hand in his hair instead, ruffling it, expression softening.

"On the outside at least." He murmured and Merlin had to swallow at the tenderness in his voice. Gaius always knew.

"Well," the physician said then, chirpier than before, "let's not stand around here and wait for the grass to grow! We have things to do, don't we?"

Merlin noticed that some of the people around them seemed to have taken Gwaine's advice and had backed off a little, but they were still surrounding him, as if they were waiting for the right opportunity to introduce themselves. Although he didn't want to be rude, he decided that it would have to wait. He could make friends later.

"Yes," he smiled. "We do. I've been waiting long enough. The walk here was the longest half an hour of my life."

Gaius nodded. "You did take your time. Freya said she was going to get you, but she was gone for longer than we expected. We were beginning to worry you'd never turn up."

Gwaine stepped up beside them and laid a hand on Gaius' arm. "Oh, don't worry, Gaius. I found them just as Merlin here was becoming acquainted with the forest floor."

Merlin huffed. "What he means to say is he nearly had my face disfigured, jumping me from behind."

Gaius' laughter rang through the clearing. "And here I thought the years would have magically cured your clumsiness!"

"Ha."

To Merlin's defense one should point out that he was about to say more than "ha" to that. He actually had a rather witty comment waiting on the tip of his tongue, but he never really got the chance to perform it. This due to the fact that for the second time that day, someone jumped him from behind, causing him to stagger and flail.

He needn't turn around to know who the culprit was, seeing as his back nearly snapped from the unexpected weight, but he spun on the spot nonetheless, a cheerful grin already forming on his lips.

Percival was peering down at him, presenting Merlin with the biggest smile the warlock had seen all day.

"Merlin!" He roared, before pulling the warlock towards him, crushing him against his chest. His shoulders creaked dangerously, and the wind was knocked out of him, but it didn't matter. Against his ear, the warlock could hear a healthy, beating heart and his cheek rubbed against fresh-smelling leather. Percival was no longer the old man he had been when Merlin bid him his farewells. He was again the man he had been the day Merlin first met him in the forest with Lancelot; big, strong and steady.

The hug lasted for more than a minute, while neither of them spoke and Merlin almost laughed. Percival had never been a supporter of big words and long sentences, he was a man of action, and it showed now more than ever. Even so, there was no doubt in Merlin's heart; Percival was glad to see him.

The thing that caused them to break apart was yet another hand laid on Merlin's shoulder, and as Percival released him, he found Sir Leon standing there, face alight with joy and amusement. He too looked like Merlin remembered him looking when he first came to Camelot, and there was no hint of silver in his beard. Behind him stood Sir Elyan, the latter also grinning from ear to ear, alive again and seemingly unburdened by the dreadful events of the past.

At a complete loss of words, Merlin could simply laugh back at his friends, and with a little push from Percival, he flew forward and crashed into them. This time both Leon and Elyan wrapped their arms around him at once and he was nearly lifted from his feet. For a man who hadn't really hugged much during his life (which had been quite long), this was almost over the top, but as he settled between them, he couldn't care less. It felt so good to be reunited with them after all this time.

"Finally!" Leon exclaimed in a tone that Merlin remembered him seldom using. Then he actually went as far as kissing the warlock's head with a loud smack, gripping him so tight the air went out of him.

"Careful," he wheezed. "I have kidneys!"

"Who cares?" Elyan laughed and followed Leon's example. Soon they were taking turns kissing him passionately on the forehead, both sighing and gushing dramatically. Clearly his kidneys weren't all that important.

"Stop it!" He tried to make it sound stern, but instead the words erupted into a fit of giggles, which only made the two of them continue. "You're going to ruin me."

"Ruin you?" Elyan shook his head. "Obviously that's a lot harder than one would think."

"Indeed." Leon cooed, kissing him once more, making him grimace and laugh at the same time.

Gwaine whistled loudly. "Well, Merlin, it seems you've got yourself in a tangle. Remember that neither of them has been with a woman in at least a thousand years! I imagine you'll have plenty of work to do. Arthur will just have to wait!"

Merlin's blood froze. For a whole (blissful?) moment he had actually forgotten all about Arthur! Hurriedly, he twisted his neck to look around, suddenly feeling that Arthur could be anywhere. He wasn't in sight though, and Merlin's heart sank a little.

It was somewhat strange actually, Merlin thought with a frown. Here he'd been acting like a total prat, trying to wake the entire sleeping population of Avalon with his fits and yet, when Merlin was finally here he didn't show up?

"Apparently, he doesn't mind," he muttered broodily, but the others didn't seem to hear him.

"Better not tell him that!" Leon exclaimed, referring to Arthur. Giving Merlin one last kiss he let go and looked back in the direction from which he'd come. "Ask Elyan here. We've been with him for the past hour and let's just say-"

"- He would have gutted us all on the spot if he knew we kept Merlin to ourselves." Elyan finished with a meaningful look at Merlin, who dropped his frown immediately.

"Then we won't tell him," Gwaine picked a straw from the ground and placed it arrogantly between his teeth. "We'll say that Merlin got lost on the way here, he'll believe that! Hell, anyone who's ever known Merlin will believe that."

"Hey!"

The Knight barely managed to dodge the slap and his laughter mixed with the others'.

"Oi," Gaius exclaimed between laughs and poked Merlin slightly in the chest, "be careful there! You might mess up his hair!"

This, of course, led to another round of hysterics and when Merlin was finally able to come down, his friends were forming a stout circle around him and he felt lightheaded and full. He could see that each and every one of his companions were shining, sort of from inside, like newly polished silver. He realized then, that even Gaius, who had been around as long as he had, had let this place take its toll on him. He ought to have been acting older, wiser, more omnipotent, yet he was as behaving like a young pup and had a temper to go with his physical manifestation. Merlin could only hope the same thing would happen to him after a while here and he was almost positive it would. In fact it had already started to happen and he knew that. He'd felt it the moment Avalon emerged under his feet. Before that even. Freya's appearance had been enough to shake him up a little.

He couldn't help it. "I can't believe this!" He exclaimed loudly to a chorus of cheers from his friends.

"You don't have to believe it." Gwaine was still chewing on his straw. "As long as you're up for saving the day again, it doesn't matter where you put your faith."

"Just don't put it with this cheese monger," Elyan concluded, clapping Gwaine on the back. "That way you'll doom us all."

"Shame on you, Elyan," retorted said cheese monger and waved a hand before his face. "There's no one in this group more fit for the mission." Something made his face light up and he looked at Merlin with an almost feverish expression. "You remember The Quest, don't you? If I hadn't crossed that bridge with you -" Suddenly, he snapped for air and with a rather impressive speed his whole face changed color. When it had reached a particular radish-like shade of red, and his eyes were bulging in their sockets he threw his arms out and yelled at the top of his lungs;

"Strength!"

Everyone looked at him as if he was slightly mental and the people surrounding them were all frozen in their positions, as if they were waiting for him to explode or something of the like. Freya actually seemed a bit concerned. "What?"

"That dwarf!" Gwaine all but screeched and his expression was more fit the Chesire Cat. "He said I was strength!"

The warlock had to rack his brain for a moment, but it was kind of hard to concentrate when Gwaine was looking at him like a madman, barely refraining from tugging at his sleeve. When the light bulb finally emerged though, a wide grin spread across his face and he nodded gravely.

"Ah, yes. The Quest. The _secret _quest we weren't supposed to mention ever again, because we were _never there_, remember?"

Gwaine didn't even flinch. "Ack, who cares? It's hardly gonna make a difference now, is it?" He jutted his chest out proudly. "But you go on and tell them, Merlin! Tell them how I was fully capable of saving the day back then, without brining doom about." The last words were uttered with a pointy glare at Elyan who just shrugged.

When Merlin didn't confirm his words he spit the straw from his mouth and slid a hand through his hair, tossing his head back dramatically. "Well, I remember clearly that if it hadn't been for me, you would both have been turned to dust by those flying lizards. Apparently, I'm not only strong, but the definition of strength itself, so the next time you decide to be an arse, Elyan, you might want to pick someone your own size. You're no match for me." He winked. "Nobody is."

Percival coughed loudly.

Gwaine's eyes grew wide for a moment and he seemed to be battling with himself. "Percival," he said after some time, erasing every expression from his face, making it look as though he was carved from stone, "I might be the definition of strength, but I'm not abnormal."

Percival snapped his knuckles.

"And," Gwaine added hurriedly, "I don't have a death wish." He fluttered his lashes in that obscene way of his again. "By the way, Perce, you look absolutely stunning today. Have you been working out?"

This evoked laughter from the group again, and Gwaine earned a slap in the back of his head that made him stumble.

The onlookers seemed to enjoy the reunion almost as much as Merlin did. They were still standing in a horse-shoe formation around them and Merlin gathered they weren't going to move anytime soon. The earlier looks of fear and awe had completely disappeared now, and had been replaced by smiles and sparkling eyes. He even saw a few tears here and there. Even Rhagonar seemed to be enjoying himself. He, too, was grinning through his beard and his belly was jumping up and down with laughter.

Clearly, these people were of the warm-hearted kind.

Suddenly he was filled with an intense feeling of gratitude towards them all and he realized that they were not strangers, but friends. People he could trust and rely on, people who cared for his well-being and wished to protect what was closest to him. He had come home at last and finally, everything was as it should be.

Well, _almost_ everything.

"Where the hell is he?!"

The sound of _that_ particular voice sent Merlin into what he would later describe as full-blown shock.

His shoulders froze instantly and he craned his neck so fast that he heard a tearing noise somewhere near his left ear. His teeth clashed together like mill-stones and his joints locked, as if he'd been hexed with a body-bind curse. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Leon and Elyan exchange glances and he thought he saw an almost electric current pass between them, but his mind was too far gone to analyze it.

All at once everything was clouded and dull, as if the world had been covered in cotton. He tried to blink, but it seemed his eyelids had momentarily stopped corresponding, and the harder he tried, he more washed out everything became. The air felt way too thick and his head felt odd, fuzzy.

Numbly, he registered how something was pushing the crowd aside, making the people fall away like loads of water moved by a tidal wave and once again he heard that voice, _his _voice;

"Merlin!"

He made to reply, but to his surprise he realized that his tongue was stuck in the roof of his mouth and the hollow of his cheeks felt like sandpaper. He tried again, but this time a wave of nausea hit him and little black dots appeared before his eyes. With a small frown Merlin registered that the ground was no longer solid beneath him and suddenly his vision was filled with a moving image of the sky.

Above him, there was a cloud shaped like a dragon.

IvVvVvVvI

When he came back, he felt something tickling in his ear and the smell of grass invaded his nostrils. His head throbbed and his chest was burning, and images of a dragon flitted through his mind. What on Earth just happened?

With a small groan, he sat up a little and tried to open his eyes, but the motion instantly made him dizzy and a white, blazing light attacked his retinal.

_Bad idea. _

He quickly shut his eyes and let himself fall back, but before his head hit the ground again, it was captured by strong hands. Instead of grass; he felt the warm press of a palm against his scalp and another one was clasped around his neck. Furrowing his brows, he registered what he thought was a familiar smell, but his head was clouded and he couldn't pin it down. He tried to recall what had happened, but his brain was strangely numb and everything felt slow, like was trying to swim through a pool of honey.

_This is important,_ a voice in his head rang, muffled, like from behind a wall. _You need to open your eyes._

_I know. _

He struggled to do as he was told.

The muscles in his eyes protested loudly, but he forced them to comply nonetheless and using his last bit of willpower, he opened them to the bright light above him. Again, everything was blurry, but he was careful this time and opened them little by little instead of rushing it. After blinking a few times it got better and suddenly he could see the silhouette of someone bending over him.

_That smell. There is something familiar…_

All of a sudden he remembered where he was.

It was like being hit by lightning; his heart reared in his and his legs gave a violent shake. Gasping for air, he shook his head and opened his eyes to the fullest, not caring about the light. They watered instantly, but he hardly noticed, for as the fog lifted and his vision cleared, his gaze fell upon the loveliest sight he had ever seen in his life.

There, staring back at him, illuminated from behind by the sun, was Arthur.

The Kings expression was filled with concern and worry and his jaw, square and strong, was set in a tight lock. His eyebrows were raised so they resembled the wings of an eagle in flight, or perhaps a dragon. There was a feverish gleam in his eyes and his breath came in small, uneven puffs, his nostrils flaring.

When their gazes met, Merlin felt the earth beneath him disappear and the world around them dissolved, just like in his dream from what seemed like a lifetime ago. Everything was silent and even though he knew hundreds of people were watching, he felt as though the universe contained nothing but the two of them.

A stream of memories, thousands of them, slowly filled him, and as he lay there, he came to remember everything that had ever happened between them. Down to the smallest, most unimportant detail. His mind was flooded with images, and the more he remembered, the more his chest constricted. Suddenly, he realized that the position they were in was awfully familiar, but the last time it had been the other way around. He had been clutching Arthur the way Arthur was now clutching him, and it was Merlin whom had looked at Arthur through burning, concerned eyes.

"_Just-"_

The way he'd leaned on Merlin.

"_Just hold me. Please."_

How different hadn't it been from all the other times Merlin had helped him with something?

It hadn't been an order, it had been a plea. And unlike before, Merlin hadn't felt that if he refused, it wouldn't matter to Arthur. He'd known that if he didn't do it, if he didn't cradle the King in his arms at that moment, he would have thrown Arthur down the deepest, darkest well imaginable. He would have crushed Arthur, and it would have hurt so much more than the wound in his side.

Arthur had needed him back then, really _needed_ him, and he had depended on Merlin, perhaps for the first time ever. They had both known he couldn't save him, not this time, but that hadn't made a difference. Arthur hadn't been looking for a way out. He'd been looking for comfort; salvation in the term of proximity and intimacy. He'd wanted to be held by a person he trusted with his life, whom he knew would follow him to the last gate and never get him go until he was ready to depart.

Arthur had wanted Merlin to hold him in his hour of death, and Merlin knew it couldn't have been different. After all, it was his destiny, and above everything, it was just… right. Merlin and Arthur, Arthur and Merlin, had they ever existed apart?

His mind was reeling and was almost too much for him to handle. Arthur was still staring back at him, still frozen in that worried position, still holding Merlin's head in his hands, still not moving, or being _Arthur_. This worried Merlin. Why wasn't he doing anything, why was he simply staring at him like that? Was there something wrong with him? With Merlin? Why did he look like this, so stony, so… afraid?

His head was just about to explode when it hit him, and his eyes widened.

_How could Arthur possibly be himself, when Merlin wasn't being Merlin?_

At these thoughts, the world came crashing back and suddenly he found himself very much alive and very present. It was only natural; Arthur was awaiting Merlin's reaction, just as Merlin was awaiting his! They were mirroring each other, something which only resulted in nothingness! Neither wanted to act before the other, because after all, there had been fifteen hundred years since their last moment together and everything, absolutely everything, could have changed since then!

Yet, Merlin knew it hadn't. He could see it in those blue depths before him; that there was nothing Arthur wanted more than to know that they were still the same. Who was he to deny him that?

He let out a shaky breath.

"So, there's no chance that we could have a hug?"

At his words, Arthur's pupils dilated in the most comical way and he looked completely shocked for a second. Then he let his breath go and his face split in a toothy, hearth-wrenching grin.

"Merlin."

There was no telling where the motion started.

Merlin barely registered being pulled into a sitting position, but as he buried his face in the King's neck, fingers clawing at his back, threading through his hair, gripping his sides – all at once – he knew that whatever he did now, it would never be enough. He was pressed flush to Arthur's torso, but he wasn't close enough, not close enough at all. He'd have to be underneath Arthur's skin to be close enough.

A dry sob escaped him.

"Arthur!"

"Merlin." It was muffled and soft, but so broken that Merlin had to press his nose to the King's shoulder not to be devoured by his emotions.

If he hadn't died before, he was going to do so now.


	8. Of Prats and Warlocks

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters. I intend no harm, I make no profit, I just like to... play.

**Warnings:** None.

**A/N:** We're getting there! Didn't I say we were getting there? I'm sorry for any misspellings there might be in here. I'm tired and I really wanted this out... TONIGHT. Reviews make me really happy.

Now, onto the story. Enjoy!

* * *

How he managed to let Arthur go would forever remain a mystery to him. Afterwards, he had little to no recollection of how it had happened, or how he had ended up outside the King's tent, accompanied only by Arthur himself.  
Apparently, the two of them were left alone so they could catch up, or whatever it was Gaius had said – Merlin certainly couldn't remember seeing as he'd been too wrapped up in his own excitement at the time – after they had finally managed to pull apart. He vaguely recalled being led by Leon and Percival and thought he remembered Gwaine whispering something in his ear that sounded a lot like "go get him", but he was far too stunned by the fact that he was here, _with Arthur_, to even care about what it meant.

Instead of a tree-house, Arthur had his own tent, located right in the center of the village. It was huge and shaped like a square pavilion, adorned with flags and spears. Outside, it was a deep shade of red, and the golden sigil of House Pendragon crowned each wall. It was by far a castle, but with Arthur inserted to the frame, it might as well have been. Merlin didn't think he'd ever seen him look this regal.

He was wearing a simple red tunic and brown leather pants, his hair windswept and his eyes were rimmed with shadows speaking of several sleepless nights, but there was an unmistakable air of royalty around him and his stance spoke of grace and power, even without the sword hanging at his side.

Seeing him in front of him like this, alive, healthy… How could any human possibly endure such an overwhelming happiness? It almost hurt.

"Here we are." The Kings voice broke through his daze and he realized he had been staring.

"Oh," he replied, quickly, tearing his gaze away. "Right."

He needed to pull himself together.

Arthur turned around and eyed him for a second, apparently waiting for Merlin to act, but the warlock couldn't think of a single thing to say, much less do. A strange tension quivered in the air between them and suddenly, Merlin couldn't meet the other man's eyes.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Would you like to come inside?"

"Uh," he replied, pulse quickening, "I suppose, yes."

At this, Arthur's features softened a little. "Merlin," he said, pinning the warlock down with his gaze, causing him to shift his eyes to the ground, "you don't have to worry."

Merlin frowned, inspecting the grass as if there was something terribly interesting about it. "Worry? Why would you think I'm worried?"

"Well, for one," Arthur said and Merlin could practically hear him frowning, "you're shaking. And two, you haven't been able to meet my eyes once since the others left us." He sounded stern, but his voice was mild. "If there is something you would like to ask-"

"No." Merlin shook his head, still looking down. He felt like a scolded child. Why was it that he had so much trouble now? He'd thought that when he was finally reunited with Arthur again, everything would be fine, that he would go back to being who he used to be and that the world would magically start making sense again. Yet now, he was feeling more lost than ever before and he couldn't even begin to understand why. Arthur was right _there._

"I'm sorry," he breathed, "it's just that this is…"

"Strange?" Arthur offered and his tone forced a smile to Merlin's lips.

That brilliant fool.

"No," he mumbled, finally allowing his eyes to meet the King's. They were warm and concerned and made him think of the forget-me-nots.

"It's not that." He began, willing himself to hold Arthur's gaze. Why couldn't he just speak his mind? Why was it so hard for him to just… _be_?

For God's sake this was Arthur! Arthur who was always grumpy in the morning, who hated delays and evasiveness, who couldn't cook to save his life and whom he had dressed and undressed so many times he was sure he knew every line, every patch of skin on his body. Arthur who wasn't only his King, but his closest friend and the person he knew and valued above all others and who was now looking at him as though he was a treasure, a golden chest of riches meant only for him.

He realized then, that it was because of that look – that open, almost naïve, expectant look lingering in the King's eyes – that made him so goddamn nervous. Those eyes were the reason he was behaving like an utter dimwit; they demanded something, wanted something, _needed_ something. And Merlin had no idea of what it was.

All of a sudden he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Arthur," he said, completely exasperated, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I'm sorry, I truly am. It's just that… Well, I've waited for this for so long, wondered what it would be like to finally see you again, trying to imagine how… what… And now…."

He trailed off and when Arthur didn't speak – he simply stood there, watching him with that agonizingly open expression – he cleared his throat, scrambling for words fit to explain what he himself couldn't. He didn't want to scare or push Arthur away by coming forth as a pining freak, but he still felt the need to tell him, to let him know how weird this was, how utterly confusing and gut wrenchingly wonderful, how _insane_ it was to see him again.

"Now that were here," he pressed on, practically smelling the awkwardness oozing from him (he certainly was becoming more and more like his old self!). "I almost can't believe it."

He waited for some kind of reaction from Arthur, but when nothing came – Arthur was still watching him intently – he sighed and decided on 'To Hell with it'.

"I've missed you, Arthur."

And there it was, really. It all boiled down to that one sentence, that one revelation; that he, Merlin, had missed him, Arthur and terribly so at that. He'd been lost without him, completely and undeniably lost, and now he was found again and it was all because of the man standing before him.

"I missed you so much," he repeated, digging his nails into his palms.

A look of surprise flitted across the King's face. For a second, he almost looked as if he'd been petrified, but then, like earlier, his features changed and again Merlin was presented with that brilliant, radiant smile.

"Merlin," he said, face shining, and Merlin thought he'd die right there, "if you had any idea, even the slightest, of how much I've anticipated this…" He shook his head, incredulous, and took a step closer. "I've probably gone half mad waiting for you!"

Merlin's heart jumped. "Really?"

Arthur nodded, face solemn. "Yes, really. I nearly killed Gwaine the other day because he made a joke about you being late as usual." He grimaced and Merlin couldn't help but smile.

"Well," he shrugged, "you wouldn't be the first to try. Besides, I am kind of slow. And you were hot-tempered to begin with."

He ducked on impulse, but when nothing happened, he glanced up to find Arthur peering own at him with an incredulous expression.

_"You can't address me like that."_

"Why thank you, Merlin," he said, reaching out to draw the tent-flap aside. "Now will you please follow me inside where we can have some privacy? I'd rather not murder you in public."

A swarm of those annoying butterflies decided to invade Merlin's gut at that precise moment, but he managed to keep his expression cool.

"You're more than welcome to try," he countered with a snort. "But I warn you, I'm a lot stronger than I look."

Arthur smirked and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him close.

"We'll see about that," he husked only millimeters from Merlin's ear, "now come on!" And with that he dragged the helpless warlock with him into the shadows.

IvVvVvVvI

The inside of the tent almost took his breath away.

"Oh, wow!"

His reaction elicited a chuckle from Arthur. "You seem impressed?"

Along the walls there were countless tapestries woven in all kinds of fabrics, all of them portraying different events in the history of Camelot. Some of them were large, covering almost an entire wall, while others were smaller, yet no less beautiful. The largest of them was in the ceiling, stretching from the entrance to the back wall, and it portrayed the castle itself and its surroundings. The image made his heart swell in his chest. It looked nearly identical to what it did in his memories.

There was also one of Kilgarrah, and Merlin frowned when he saw it. After all the trouble the dragon had caused in his time, it was rather strange seeing him decorate the inside of Arthur's tent. When he thought about it though, it made sense. Kilgarrah had, in his own way, been just as concerned with Arthur's life and destiny as he had been. The only difference between them was that the dragon also carried a deep grudge against Uther and had demanded revenge for the eradication of his race. He was soaring through the air, wings spread wide and streaks of fire and smoke flared from his nostrils and mouth. He looked magnificent.

The image of the Dragon was hanging right next to one of Guinevere, portraying the day she was crowned. She was kneeling in the throne-room, surrounded by red cloaks and golden sigils and in front of her, Arthur was standing tall, sword at his hip looking over the audience. She looked stunning, and the artist had taken the liberty to embroider a shining halo around her head, morphing into the shapes of the crown resting upon her dark curls. The resemblance was overwhelming. Even through the dead fabric he could sense her kindness, her wisdom and the warmth that had always radiated from her.

He realized then, just how much he missed her, and for a second he almost wished she had never met Lancelot, just so he could have had the chance to see her one more time. However, as soon as the thought entered his head, he discarded it. She had been a wonderful person and a dear friend and she deserved to be happy. Lancelot had been her destiny, and if anyone knew how it was to go through the ages without one's other half, it was him. Yet, to find her here, in Arthur's tent… He wanted to ask Arthur about her, wanted to know if he missed her, if he had any idea of why she wasn't with them, but the truth was he was scared of the King's reaction. As much as he missed Gwen, Arthur must miss her even more and he didn't want to pour salt into an open wound. She had been the love of his life after all.

Sneaking a glance at him, Merlin tried to decipher his thoughts upon the matter, but Arthur wasn't even looking at the tapestry. His eyes were fixed on something else, and as the warlock followed his gaze, he forgot everything else. There, above the entrance to what must be Arthur's bedchamber, he saw yet another tapestry, and when he stopped to inspect it, he noticed to his immense surprise, that it was an image of what must be him and Arthur riding through the forest. He couldn't make out exactly where they were, but from the looks of it, they were somewhere in the woods surrounding Camelot. The fabric used was fine, like silk, and the colors blended brilliantly, green upon blue, upon red, yellow... Arthur was wearing his armor and Merlin his usual shirt and scruff; they looked happy.

"Do you like it?" Arthur voice made him jump, and when he turned to look at the King, he noticed that Arthur was watching him, his expression an unreadable mask.

Merlin could but stare back. "Do I like it? Of course I like it. It's just… who made it?"

Arthur gave a wry smile. "The Sidhe."

Oh, so he'd met them too now, had he? Well, it seemed appropriate enough. The world of magic was no longer out of Arthur's reach. He was living in it.

"It's really nice." He said, returning his attention to the artwork. "Kind of makes you wonder though," he said after a little pause.

Arthur frowned. "About what?"

"Well," he stated, matter-of-factly, "first of all; how come they know this much about us?" He pointed at the tapestry. "That's Gideon, my usual horse. See his left front leg? There's a scar there and I remember because– it's shaped like a circle almost, see- I used to wonder what had happened to him. And that," he continued, moving his finger, "is definitely your amour! I've polished that thing more times than I can count and I know every single detai-"

"Yes, Merlin," Arthur's voice was shaking with suppressed laughter, "I know. They've been following us for a long time, the Sidhe. Every tapestry in this room is made by them."

_Really?_

He turned to Arthur, whom was smiling at him, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"So they've been _stalking _us?"

The way he said it made Arthur's eyebrows shot up and Merlin could have bitten his tongue off. From the look on the other man's face, he knew something was coming. And surely, he was right. After a loaded pause, Arthur threw his head back and let out a joyful bark.

"What's so funny?" He asked, sullenly, knowing fully well what Arthur was going to say.

"Really, Merlin, are you sure you're the right person to talk about stalking? As far as I've been told, you haven't exactly been easy on the eavesdropping yourself."

This earned him a glare. "That was different!"

"Of course it was," Arthur waved a hand, "you were trying to protect me and save my kingdom, something you accomplished – and I can't believe I'm actually referring to this – by hiding under my bed for example."

Merlin gaped at him.

"That was one time! I didn't- I never-" Arthur was looking more pleased by the second "– You think I enjoyed lurking around in the shadows like a common thief?"

At this, Arthur shook his head, still grinning like a madman. "No, Merlin. All I'm saying is that you shouldn't be so hard on the Sidhe. From what I know, they were doing the same thing you were; making sure my destiny was fulfilled. Besides, look at what came out of it. It's beautiful, and…"

He stopped there, a sudden blush creeping its way to his cheeks.

"And what?" Merlin pressed, still glaring a little.

"Well," the King said, and Merlin was sure his smile had faltered a little, "it reminds me of how things used to be. We had a lot of fun didn't we?"

_Fun? _

Again, memories flooded the warlock's brain and he closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn't thought about it like that before, hadn't been able to think back with a smile and consider the good times. Not after he'd been left alone, not after everyone else was gone. The memory of Arthur's death always overshadowed everything and the fact that he had failed at protecting him... Merlin had never forgiven himself for that. Yet, Arthur was right. Despite all the trouble and hardships, despite all the heartache, they had indeed had some fun; A lot of it actually.

"Yes." He answered simply, eyes returning to the tapestry. "We did. I guess it isn't that bad."

He turned to Arthur once more. "When did you meet the Sidhe?"

"Oh," The King answered, furrowing his brows a little. "Some time ago. Their King and his court came here shortly after I…" He trailed off and for a moment, he seemed to vanish to a place far beyond Merlin's reach.

"When you woke?" For some reason he had troubles saying it, afraid perhaps, that Arthur would notice the unspoken question he'd been carrying ever since he learned of Arthur's sleep.

"Yes," he answered, not meeting Merlin's eyes. Then, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, he turned to the warlock.

His expression was nothing short of torn.

"I dreamt about you."

It was uttered in a soft tone, much too soft for someone like Arthur, and it caused a muscle around Merlin's right eye to jump involuntarily.

"You did?" He asked, just as cautious as the King had been moments before. A part of him dreaded the answer, while another wanted nothing but to know exactly what Arthur meant by those words.

"What did you… uhm…" He trailed off, unable to finish as talking was becoming increasingly difficult.

They'd never spoken to each other like this, at least not on the same terms. Sure, Merlin had sometimes dropped a bomb-like question at Arthur and vice versa, but there had always been a fence between them, mostly due to their different positions. Now, however, they were on the same page so to say, and there was nothing to hide behind or blame. They were Merlin the sorcerer and Arthur the King; Equals.

Much was to be said about the King, but he was not as dense as Merlin had earlier given him credit for, because he seemed to struggle with the same knowledge. His mouth opened and closed and his lips seemed to be forming silent words, although none actually came out. He looked quite like a stranded fish.

Merlin was feeling bad for him.

"I'm sorry."

Arthur gave a dismissive wave. "No, it's fine- it's just that I… I haven't spoken about this to anyone and now it seems rather ridiculous."

"Why?"

"First of all because it happened inside my head. It wasn't really you… and yet it felt- it still feels like you were actually there. Second, because it- well..."

He sighed and rubbed his face. "Maybe we should do this another time."

Merlin merely nodded; too concerned about the fact that Arthur's hands were shaking to feel disappointed.

"Yeah, sure."

"So," Arthur said after some time, looking down at his shoes, "what have you been doing all these years?"

Now, it was Merlin's turn to squirm. He didn't know how to answer that.

"Uhm..." He tried with a smile, but the words came out strangled, as if he was trying to swallow them as he spoke. "Waiting for you?"

Arthur's head gave a violent jerk and Merlin thought he saw a flash of what could only be described as agony in his light blue orbs.

He swallowed.

"I… I didn't… It was all right." He tried, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, I didn't just sit and stare at a wall or anything. I mean, I…" He trailed off. How could he possibly describe to Arthur what his life had been like?

"Did you ever marry?"

The question took Merlin aback and he felt heat rising in his cheeks.

"Marry?" He answered, attempting to sound neutral. "No. Oh no, I never… I never married."

He thought he saw relief in Arthur's face at that, but he quickly discarded it as a hallucination. Why on earth would Arthur resent the thought of Merlin marrying? The idea was absurd.

"Never wanted to either," he added, feeling like he had to explain himself. And even if this wasn't completely true – he had thought about it more than once, and especially after Wart's wedding – he felt the need to tell Arthur that no one had been able to steal away his attention and lead him away from his destiny. Jenny's face entered his mind for a second and he had to struggle to make it vanish.

She was a sorceress, he told himself. If she hadn't been, none of that would have happened.

"Besides," he continued, desperately trying to put some distance between himself and the past, "it's kind of hard to find someone who can cope with the fact that you're a fifteen hundred year old sorcerer, isn't it?"

"Hm," was all he got in return and Merlin noticed that Arthur's eyes had drifted to the tapestry of Gwen.

He knew this was the moment.

"Do you miss her?"

Arthur let out a sigh and just then he looked like a broken man. "Every day," he said, shoulders slumping. "I know she's not supposed to be here, but…" his eyes found Merlin's. "I can't help thinking that it would be great if she was."

Merlin understood. "I know," he replied silently, "she was…" To speak of Gwen like this, as if she was gone – well, she was gone, but so was Arthur for some time and yet he was here – it made his insides clench painfully. "_Is_," he continued and Arthur offered him a sad smile, "she is wonderful."

Arthur nodded, but then he shook his head, straightening his shoulders. "And she's somewhere else now. After you set Lancelot free-"

Merlin's jaw dropped. "You _know_?"

Shrugging, Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "I think I always knew." He didn't answer the question, but Merlin knew Gaius must have told him what had happened all those years ago when Lancelot returned from the realm of the dead. "Even after he was gone, I couldn't shake the feeling that Guinevere wasn't really mine."

Merlin was about to protest, but Arthur gave him a look that clearly said "don't".

"I know she loved me," he said this with confidence and Merlin believed him, "but her she loved him too, maybe even more."

_As long as I live, my feelings for you will never fade._

"Anyway," Arthur said, and Merlin could tell that was the end of the conversation. "I've got one more thing I want to show you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," The King replied, lighter now. "Come on!"

He walked Merlin to the back of the tent, and pointed at a piece of furniture hidden underneath an old rug. It looked like some sort of… his heart skipped beat and watched entranced, as Arthur pulled the fabric away and Merlin gasped.

The Round Table!

Merlin figured it had to be a replica, seeing as the original was burned due to orders from Cornwell when Camelot was taken. Merlin had seen it with his own eyes, unable to stop it from happening, as he didn't want to meddle with things that were originally out of his hands. Gwen had passed a long time ago, and neither Camelot, nor its citizens were familiar to him anymore. The thought was here now would be absurd. Besides, the last time he checked, wooden tables didn't avoid decay for a thousand years. Then again, he thought, neither did human beings.

He turned to Arthur.

"Is that..?"

"The same table, yes." The King nodded, confirming Merlin's thoughts.

"But how is that possible? I saw it burn to ashes!"

Arthur actually smirked then.

"What you saw was a mere copy. The original table, the one we found in the cave, never left the place. I didn't want to remove it."

He couldn't believe it. "Why not?"

"Well," the King gave a shrug, "I guess I just felt like it belonged there. With the memories of what happened that night. Putting it in what had been my father's throne-room somehow didn't seem right."

Merlin thought he could understand that.

"How did it end up here then?" He asked, trailing his finger across the smooth dark surface. It felt cold against his skin.

"Nobody knows, really. It just happened to be here one day."

Now it was Merlin's turn to smirk. "As if by magic?"

Arthur didn't look at him, but despite the clench of his jaw and the slight furrow of his brows, Merlin could see he was fighting a smile. "Something like that, yeah."

Magic, Merlin mused. How strange it was to think that he no longer had to keep his secret from Arthur, and how odd it was that it changed everything and nothing at the same time.

"Would you like something to drink?" Arthur asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. He was gesturing at a mug of wine standing on a small serving table to their left.

Merlin couldn't help showing his amusement. "Sure. Yeah, thanks," he breathed, forcing the laughter to the back of his throat.

The irony obviously escaped Arthur at first, for as he went to fetch it, he looked back at Merlin with a confused expression. It wasn't until he'd placed a silver cup in Merlin's hand and the warlock hinted at it with his eyes, that a dry snort escaped him.

"Oh, don't get too comfortable with the idea."

And there it was again.

_Their tone_.

It felt like coming home after a long time away and Merlin was glad for the distraction. This, he could do. Bickering with Arthur was second nature.

"No?" He couldn't help but grin, "you mean to say that there is no reason for me to think you're going to be a little rewarding after all this time?" He crossed his arms over his chest and made an effort to pout. "I think that's a little petty, even for you."

All the received in return was an eye-roll. "Says the one who could have filled that cup without as much as lifting a finger."

"Excuse me, but it's not like it doesn't require mental energy!"

"Oh please, I've seen what you can do! Filling a cup really doesn't seem comparable to knocking out an entire army."

"You'd be surprised."

"I hardly think so. Besides, if it had required that much of you, you'd be dead by now seeing as you-"

"-have no brain, yes I know, haha."

"Idiot."

"Prat."

"Tosser."

"Toad."

They glared at one another, but Merlin noticed that Arthur's mouth was trembling a little, as if he was about to burst out laughing any moment.

"Are you going to put me in the stocks now?" He asked tentatively, hoping his voice wouldn't reflect his amusement.

"No." Arthur too managed to keep his expression cool. "Clearly that would be an insult." He paused a little before adding; "To the stocks!"

"Now that's-"

"_However_, I'll have to come up with a way to teach you some manners. It's pretty obvious that you've forgotten most of them."

"According to you, I never had manners." A devil ran through him. "And besides, I recall you saying something along the lines of 'Don't you ever change, Merlin', so clearly you're either delirious right now, or lying."

That line in particular seemed to take effect, for to his astonishment, Arthur's skin color changed from normal, to red, to purple and then back again, until he was white as a sheet, with little pinkish dots scattered all around. He almost looked as though he'd been playing with a bottle of Gaius' berry extract. Merlin knew he had taken it too far, and yet in the thrill of the moment, he wasn't even a little sorry. This was too much fun.

A gurgling, very un-royal sound escaped the King's lips.

"That's the-"

"What? Are you trying to deny it?" A little pause stretched between them and Merlin thought saw a flicker of panic in the other man's eyes.

He decided against better judgment to continue and leaning forward a little, he placed his hands on his hips and seized Arthur with an inquiring look.

"Do you mean to say that you _want _me to change?"

At this, lightning struck in Arthur's face as what must be a thousand different emotions and thoughts raced through him at once. Merlin considered putting him out of his misery by waving a hand or something, but eventually the King settled with a stern expression. He no doubt meant to look decisive, but there was something shy, almost vulnerable hiding in the blue depths of his eyes.

"No, _Mer_lin," the familiar pressure on 'mer' made his blood sing, "I don't want you to change."

Merlin made to offer a comeback, but was stopped abruptly by Arthur who stabbed him hard in the chest with his knuckles.

"What I'm saying," he drawled, "is simply that you need to know your place."

Merlin fought the urge to roll his eyes. Back to that, were they?

"You mean as your servant?"

He had meant for it to sound like a jape, but somehow the words changed in his mouth and it came out sort of strangled. Mentally cursing himself, he straightened his back and tried his best to look unbothered. "Cause let me tell you," he continued, "it won't be like before if that's what you think. I'm not going to run your every errand, write your speeches or-"

Something softened in Arthur's expression and Merlin could feel the warmth radiating from his gaze.

"No, you idiot," he laid a hand on Merlin's shoulder, which effectively shut him up. "As my most trusted and loyal friend."

He seemed to consider his own words for a moment and Merlin, awestruck by this sudden praise, did too.

It wasn't entirely unsuspected; Arthur had often said that if things were different, if Merlin wasn't a servant and he wasn't royalty, they would have made great friends. However, him actually admitting it, acknowledging that Merlin was his friend, and his closest one at that… It was more than he'd ever dreamed to hope for.

_"Do I know you?"_

He remembered the first time he had referred to Arthur as such, and his gut twisted at the memory.

_"I'm Merlin." _

_"So I don't know you."_

_"Nope."_

_"And yet you called me friend."_

_"I'm sorry. That was my mistake."_

How young they had both been back then; Arthur, no more than a princeling and Merlin, still unable to control his temper. It was doomed to fail.

Idly, he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't saved Arthur from that flying dagger. What if somebody else had? Then he would have never become the Prince's manservant and the two of them wouldn't have spent every waking hour together from then on. Destiny, he suspected, would have found another way for them to grow close, but in that case, maybe it could have happened on different terms. Maybe, if things hadn't been the way they were…

Arthur let his hand drop from his shoulder after giving it a soft squeeze. "Can you live with that?"

Merlin watched his hand fall and something hard, lumpy and thick started forming in his chest, making it somewhat hard to breathe.

Could he?

Of course he could. He could live with that, for that, because of that, till the end of time and longer. It was everything he could have dreamed of; to be at Arthur's side, to protect and aid him, and to be allowed to do that, not having to hide who he was in the process. It had been his greatest wish for longer than he could remember, and still… still… He swallowed. Why was it that he felt disappointed?

Why was there some part of him – a microscopic, evil, horrible little part – that wanted to say no, that wanted to grab Arthur's shirt, push him up against a wall and-

_Oh God._

He started, shocked by his own treacherous mind. Wide eyed and blushing he took a step back from the King, who gawked at him in confusion, and nearly tripped over a chest standing behind him in the process. When he had steadied himself – _Dammit, Merlin you fool, get it together this instant!_ – he gulped and gripped his cup so hard he was surprised it didn't break.

"Sorry," he breathed, mentally slapping himself for his clumsiness, "I… There was a fly."

_Seriously? A fly?! How thick could one possibly get?_

Arthur glanced around the tent, squinting. "Really? Where? I didn't see it." He returned his eyes to Merlin, and the warlock felt himself shrink.

"Urh," he mumbled, frantically shaking his head, "maybe there wasn't, or… I just thought I saw…"

Arthur, still eying him suspiciously, pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit. "Here, take a seat, you look as if you're about to faint."

_Indeed. _

He quickly sat down, taking good care _not _to brush against Arthur in the process.

"Thanks." He mumbled, trying his best to keep his hands under control. They were thrumming across his things like little, excited spiders. Arthur sat down opposite to him, and for reasons unknown, Merlin was happy to get a little distance between them.

"You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah," he coughed, avoiding eye contact. His eyes fell on one of the inscriptions on the table plate in front of the King. It was written in the language of the Old Religion. "Love" it said.

_Stupid, stupid Arthur and his stupid concern._

They sat in silence for a while before Arthur spoke again.

"For the record, Merlin, I wouldn't have had you executed."

This made Merlin look up.

"Huh?"

_Where was this coming from?_

Arthur cleared his throat. "If you'd told me. About you magic, I mean." His eyes searched for the warlock's and Merlin reluctantly met his gaze. "I know I said I wasn't sure what I would have done, but I know one thing; I would never, ever hurt you," Merlin raised a brow, "And before you mention all the times I've hit you – because I know you were going to – I'd just like to clarify that you deserved those."

Merlin gave a snort and some of the stiffness fled from his body. "You certainly know how to make amends, don't you?"

Arthur smirked. "So I've been told."

"Really?"

"No."

They shared an affectionate gaze and the corners of Arthur's mouth were jumping.

Merlin bit his lip.

"I'm sorry I never told you."

"It's okay. After all, you were afraid I'd chop your head off. I don't blame you. It's what I would have done too."

He chuckled. "What? Chopped my head off?"

"No, you moron!"

"I know- I know, I was just kidding."

"Well, don't. Not about that."

"Okay, I'm sorry, I won't."

Arthur shook his head. "You do have the worst timing."

"Yeah, I know. I guess some things never change, do they?"

"Obviously not."

Merlin remembered something Gale had once said; "The world may turn a thousand times, but its people remain unchanged." He had brushed it off as one of the sheep herder's many strange anecdotes back then, but now the sentence made a lot more sense. He hadn't changed when Arthur or Camelot fell, not really. It was the world that had become a stranger to him, because it no longer contained what it used to.

"It's strange though, thinking back." Arthur mused, is if reading Merlin's mind.

"What?" He asked, straightening a little in his seat.

Arthur smiled at him. "How did I never notice? That you have magic, I mean. It's not like you're the most subtle person on the planet."

"Oh."

Merlin thought he ought to feel offended, but it was impossible to be mad at Arthur when he was looking at him like that. He simply shrugged. "You had other things to worry about."

Arthur's brows flew up, again resembling the wings of an eagle in flight. "So did you. Besides, you were with me practically all the time, and you still managed to keep it all to yourself. Was there anyone else –apart from Gaius of course- who knew about you?"

"Uhm… Lancelot."

If Arthur was surprised, he hid it well. "Hn," was all he said, but Merlin thought he saw the muscles in his arms flex.

"It wasn't-" he started, readying himself for whatever was to come, but Arthur held up a hand and silenced him.

"No, no," he said, shifting a little in his chair, one arm still wrapped around himself, as if for protection, "I understand. I would have told him too."

"I didn't tell him though. He figured it out by himself and promised not to tell anyone."

Arthur nodded, eyes fixed on something in the distance. "He was a loyal man."

"He was."

Another moment of silence ticked by, giving Merlin the opportunity to reflect upon what had just been said. Another one, he thought. Another secret revealed. Boy, there were so many. They could stay in the tent for a week straight and that wouldn't even be enough time to cover them all. He realized that whatever it was Destiny had in store for them this time around, he'd at least have something to do letting Arthur in on everything he'd missed back then due to secrecy.

I should write a list, he thought, taking a gulp of wine. It tasted sweet, like summer.

He glanced at Arthur, whom was also staring off into space, as if he was trying to solve a particularly difficult riddle. His fingers were tracing patterns on the table and he was chewing at the inside of his cheek.

"So…" He asked at last and Arthur's started, quickly withdrawing his hand from the table.

"We're friends then?"

Arthur met his gaze and a quirky smile played in the corner of his mouth.

"Do you want us to be?"

Merlin nodded, trying his best to look unbothered.

"Sure."

"Then I guess we're friends," Arthur replied with a grimace.

"… Unfortunately."

"Arthur!"

Merlin instantly feigned annoyance and muttered under his breath how Arthur was still "an insufferable prat with an ego the size of Jupiter" (Arthur, of course, had no idea what "Jupiter" meant, but that didn't stop him from getting the message) and how he should have trusted the old saying; "Once a clothpole, always a clothpole."  
Of course, he made sure the King heard every word, something which resulted in Arthur leaping from his chair, tackling Merlin to the ground where an instant play-fight ensued.

They wrestled about for a bit, but Arthur soon had Merlin's head locked under his arm, the latter begging for mercy even though he could have wiped that smug smirk of the King's face without as much as straining a muscle.  
When they were done, they were both heaving for air and as Merlin sat up and rubbed his neck he noticed that Arthur was looking at him, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

"What?" He grumbled, feeling how a swell was beginning to form on his skin. That bloody bastard.

Arthur just shook his head at him. "I just realized something."

"You? Realized something? I hardly believe that."

"All those times," Arthur said, and his expression was nothing short of comical. He looked as though he had just seen Merlin grow fur (which he could do, for the record) or something of the like. "All those times…

... you never once went to the Tavern, did you?"


End file.
